Writing is one of those things I aspire to do. It's kind of like when you watch the Olympics and suddenly want to take gymnastics. With me, I'll see something, as simple as some broken glass on the side of the road, and from it blooms a garden of glass flowers that an ancient wizard created. It serves a very special purpose until one day-I'll stop there, I think you get the point. Writing is such a beautiful thing. Good writers possess so much power, they can change the world, or at least the way their reader looks at the world.
I have started so many stories, and time and time again, I never finish them. Usually it's because the bright, colorful, thrilling story in my head, doesn't end up looking that great on paper. Or I completely run out of ideas and end up looking aimlessly at my writing board on Pinterest. It's almost as if all of my creative juice pours out into the first word. Not a good thing.
A few days ago I was feeling irritated with myself for not being able to come up with an interesting plot line. Then I came across this prompt.
I had seen it before, but not in the same way. It didn't tell me to write a story about someone. All it said was to write about the color of pain and the taste of happiness. So, that is just what it did...
It looks like a popped balloon, deflated and worthless. It's the color of rain drops on the car window. The terrible shiver, when you sense something awful going on. The taste is sweet for a moment, then turns sour, you cough and choke trying to get it out, but once you've swallowed it, there's no going back. Your stomach churns and the sound of silence floods your ears.
Up, up your heart flies. Your legs may not be steady, but you don't fear the fall. Lovely pools of color dance in front of your eyes. It echos the first time you notice your heart beating, which makes you want to dance and shout "I'm alive!" It tastes so soft and smooth, like ice cream. It soothes you more than warm tea on a sore throat. It hums the beautiful song of sun beams reflecting off of a crystal lake.
There you have it! I definitely wrote about more than just the taste and color, and I wrote about loneliness instead of pain. But I like my little poem thing-a-ma-bobs.