daily dime: the day hell broke loose at sicard hollow.

i heard the sound

but i couldn’t define it.

i saw the sight

but i couldn’t describe it.

i felt the feeling

but i couldn’t defeat it

i tasted the sky

and here i lay dying. 

**title / poem inspired by Maylene and the Sons of Disaster**

support the daily dime…http://dailydime.ning.com/

really. no shooting.

so evidently, i’m a TOTAL slacker.  i know, i know, i can hear you gasp in shock.  steph?  slacker?  Never.   just like i’m never sarcastic. 

i still really want to participate in the daily dime, but have been reluctant to jump back in b/c i’ve felt really drained lately and don’t think i can manage much to write…let alone commit to writing something every day.  so…i’m going to be a rebel and make my own rules (the boys can vote me off the island if they want…but really, they’re nice boys and i’m sure they’ll put up with my crap). 

i am going to submit to the daily dime as much as i possibly can.  it might be every day.  it might be once a week.  heck.  it could even be twice a day if i was in the mood.  but i promise it will never be less that one submission a week.

please, as always, support the boys as they continue to write, write, write, and put me to shame.  (c; 

Gabe = http://typinghurts.blogspot.com/

Todd = http://initialdraft.blogspot.com/

Cuyler = http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com/

Steve = http://tactilecontact.blogspot.com/

Arthur = http://phantomsandshadows.blogspot.com/ 

daily dime: .fin.

Her hands rested lightly on the ivory keys. They felt good.  Smooth.  Cool.  Familiar.  

Now, if only she could manage to remember the joy that the sound used to induce.  If she could only forget that day. 

She willed herself to move. She pressed lightly with one finger.  Not really pushing the key, but rather just letting the weight of her finger bring it down.  The quiet tone sounded sad.  Lonely.  It must feel right at home, she mused.  Looking down at her hands, she willed them to keep moving.  She took in a breath and began to move the rest of her fingers. 

Her hands glided…no…floated across the black and white keys as the memory of the song began to fill her.  She closed her eyes and was transported back to her mother’s parlor… 

Sun was flooding through the large window, illuminating the small room.  The gold lettering on the binding of the books that lined the walls were shining and the room held a glow that seemed more beautiful that this world was capable of. 

There was a slender girl sitting at the piano, playing feverishly a song that was her everest.  Her brow was furrowed and her black hair swayed as she attacked the mind of Bethoveen.  Bright blue eyes flashed indignantly, knowing she would get the better of him this time. 

Here it was…the measure that she had yet to master…and there it went… 

The furrow on the brow and the indignation in the eyes turned into a smirk and a twinkle of pride.  She began to breathe more evenly and her hands started to feel like they weren’t attached to her arms and her arms were no longer attached to her shoulders and her shoulders were flying.  The piano ceased to be her instrument and she was singing the song with every part of her body… 

…her hands stopped abruptly.  Just short of the end of the piece. 

Forgetting wasn’t so easy.

===================================================================== You are viewing a Daily Dime story on https://stephonix.wordpress.com
The Daily Dime is a daily writing challenge created by Gabe and Cuyler. View other entries here:
Gabe – http://typinghurts.blogspot.com
Cuyler – http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com
Todd – http://initialdraft.blogspot.com

daily dime, the sixth: .rouen.

The room is sparse, cold and gray. 

This is strange… 

The girl sitting on the bed is slight and pale, but there is something in her eyes that makes one think that she was once more than the shell she now appears to be. 

…I expected today to feel different. 

Clothed in a simple white sheath, her pale skin seems that much paler.  She reaches up with a small, strong hand and runs her fingers through her almond colored locks.  It has grown since she’s been in this place and is now softly sweeping her small shoulders.   

Calm.  Is it actually possible to feel calm on a day such as this? 

Standing in one swift motion, she moves fluidly to the small window that was only just above her head.  In that quick movement, it’s almost easy to see how she managed the battlefield. 

Just one glimpse of the sky…Father, let me have just one look… 

Her prayer is answered as the dark clouds break slightly, revealing a small sliver of cobalt sky.  She takes a moment and tries to let the color soak into her memory before she turns back to the room that has been her home for much too long. 

I’m glad to be rid of you.  I never thought I’d hate anything as much as death, but I was wrong.  This prison…this prison is killing me slowly. 

She sits back down on the bed and sighs heavily.  Closing her eyes she begins to pray.  She prays for her parents.  For her friends.  For the men who fought beside her.  For the men who died along side her.  For her life.  For her country.  For her king.   

“Joan?”  Her prayer is interrupted by his low, firm voice. 

“It’s time.” ====================================================================== You are viewing a Daily Dime story on https://stephonix.wordpress.com
The Daily Dime is a daily writing challenge created by Gabe and Cuyler. View other entries here:
Gabe – http://typinghurts.blogspot.com
Cuyler – http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com
Todd – http://initialdraft.blogspot.com

daily dime, the fifth: ..lost..

This hurts.

My fingers are bleeding.

My mind is numb.

I’ve given too much.

I don’t know what’s mine anymore.

who knew writing was so hard?

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You are viewing a Daily Dime story on https://stephonix.wordpress.com
The Daily Dime is a daily writing challenge created by Gabe and Cuyler. View other entries here:
Gabe – http://typinghurts.blogspot.com
Cuyler – http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com
Todd – http://initialdraft.blogspot.com