May 9, 2011
By umberella BRONZE, Auburn, New York
umberella BRONZE, Auburn, New York
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Not all who wander are lost"

Once upon a time, words away, there lived two sisters, where the blood of the people and the land ran through the same veins. One day the sky and the earth dried out and their people turned to dust. But the sisters, like two flowers, were plucked by a hand and carried for worlds until finally laid, sickly and starved in the sunshine of another world. They lay for centuries, bathing in the rays of life, air blossoming in their lungs, tasting in their hearts the sights which they smelled through their fingertips.
But as night approached, the sunshine of relief would set into the dark waters of nostalgia, and they would feel that they did not belong within the schemes of this new world. They lay upon it like oil on water. With this realization and in grief, they began to wither. But through their dying eyes they saw words.
The words became a medium. Their love for each other was so great that they lived another day. What gave them life again traveled from the heart of one through her hand onto the paper, crossing the distance into the eyes of the other through her brain and into the heart. Words made the world to include them both the way a thought brings out the air to blow out a candle. Using words for this purpose…it was like extinguishing the flame with the thought, not the air which it lets run through the lips. And so at night they wrote for each other. Neither sister could let the other lose herself in the presence of words. Every evening, each creature would write her sister hope. She described the day, the trees, the grass, the sky around the other as though she were a part of it all, like back home. The paper was left sitting. And after the dreams of their home, and each waking to the darkness of loss in her mind, the words would shed light and hope on the coming day.
And so it went. Until a sister died. And with her died the words which awoke the other, and the purpose which kept her whole when night descended from its lonesome peaks. So when the sun settled, the remaining sister lay beside the dark to dream of her home and her sister one last time. In the morning she opened her eyes. Then in the silence of hope’s tongue she closed them again and turned to dust.

The author's comments:
A lot of times writing is not a creating process, but rather one of finding, inch by inch. I found this story.

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This article has 2 comments.

hplover42794 said...
on Jun. 23 2011 at 8:54 am
This is great!  Soo Creative and imaginative!  It's really symbolic and I love it!

on Jun. 23 2011 at 6:18 am
inkblot13 PLATINUM, Auburn, New York
41 articles 1 photo 162 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If I knew where poems came from, I'd go there"

- Michael Langley, 'Staying Alive'

Great job! I've read it before... But now my comment will be here forever! Bwahahaha

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