Bright Idea

What if... the kings of old Europe were portayed as children?

Summers day

On a warm summers day, at the end of June, a woman stepped onto the green grass of the park near her home. In her right hand, she held the miniature version of it, namely her three-year-old daughter's hand. The daughter was wearing a pink-with-white dress. The little girl was making soft sounds of laughter and delight everytime a pigeon came near and she tried to run after it. In the mother's left hand, she held a basket. A basket full of delicious food and drinks. The woman held up the basket, seemingly trying to estimate how much it weighted and sighed deeply. Looking at her face showed every random stranger that she was tired. Very tired.

For no particular reason she stopped walking after they had arrived in the middle of the field. She put down the basket, released her daughter from her grip and kicked off her sandals. They flew with amazing grace through the air and landed only a couple of feet away from a huge tree, that provided the sun-overflown public with a little bit of shadow and coolness.

The little girl had taken the unsuspected opportunity of freedom to escape her mother's authority and she had ran off to the nearest fountain. She was staring in amazement at the peculiar statue of a man and a woman hugging each other very tightly, spewing water from their mouths and hands. Sometimes the water also came from the floor and the first time when that happened the little girl had ran away in time to avoid wetting her lovely dress. She laughed a high, short laugh of happyness and clapped her small hands. And so she started to game of the fountain.

The mother called for the child, which didn't show to have heard her, she was too entertained by the water. The mother called again, this time luring her with promises of a sweet, delicious red apple and a slice of pineapple. At the sound of pineapple, the girl turned around with big eyes of excitement and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her to her mother. The mother held out her arms and the girl ran straight into them.

The little daughter told her mother proudly how she had tricked the water into believe it could touch her, but it never could, she was too clever! But mother wasn't really listening, she was staring at one of the little benches near the fountain, padding her little girl's head once, while her face turned sickly pale.



A short story with all of Dutch writer Zwagerman rules: a part of a life, unknown in who's perspective it's written, the reader can add all sorts of information into the story, abrupt ending, etc.

A Love Story

The sun was shining bright. Vincent brushed his hand over his forehead to wipe off the sweat, but his hand stopped halfway through. His eyes had caught the blistering glance of long blonde hair. He knew that blonde hair, like it was his own. Once it had been his to call 'mine', but no longer could he do that. Vincent couldn't believe what he was seeing.

She hadn't changed her mind, had she?

Last time he'd seen her, she had been flirting with a prick from town. She had made it obvious to Vincent that he was in the past and that he was no longer on her mind and she was telling him with her action that he had to move on, too. Not that he could do that, he loved her too much for moving on.

His eyes didn't betray him, though that was definitely what Vincent thought had happened to him. She was really walking on the sandy path that let to his small little vineyard.

Vincent straightened up, unsure what do to. Should he call out to her? Or just let her walk towards the house and not answer her at all, in other words, ignore her?

He couldn't do that. He already felt that peculiar feeling he always felt when he was near her. He had no words for them, but in his head he loosly discriped them as strong cables pulling him to her.

Once they had pulled her to him, too.

That was in the past. He shouldn't be thinking of that, it would only cause distraction and pain. Vincent looked at his one true love again. She hadn't changed much. She was a little older, there were some lines in her face, though they could've been caused by her desire to laugh and to talk. Vincent heard the sound of laugher in his head again, he hadn't forgotten it. She was holding an umbrella, to keep her face out of the sun, and her white-with-blue summer dress was the real incarnation of freedom, joy and love. It fitted her perfectly. Vincent knew that the deep blue eyes would match perfectly with the dress. His eyes darted to her feet and he saw that she was wearing the most impractical shoes for a farmer country.

The shoes also explained why she was walking so slowly and carefully. The tall heels were thin. She had her face bent to the ground, to watch where she was going.

Suddenly she looked up and stared right into his eyes. It felt like he was hit by lightening. His entire frame was on fire. He didn't care that she had told him goodbye, he didn't think about his dirty hands that had been working on the field all day, all he knew and all he saw was her.

*

I think this is a nice beginning for a short story, don't you agree? No, it isn't perfect yet, but it will get better in time.

Tales

For ever and ever bound in love

Once upon a time, in a far, far away country, there was a beautiful princess and a handsome prince. Both lived happily, but felt that something was missing. On a beautiful summers day, where our story begins, they met. When they looked in each other’s eyes, they fell in love. From that moment on they were inseparable. Everywhere she went, he went and the other way around. They felt their heart was whole, they didn’t ask for anything anymore as long as they were together. Everyone could see how happy they were together. The happiness of the pair was only interrupted by his family, who didn’t like the princess very much. At first, he didn’t take notice, but after a while he couldn’t ignore the things they said. Frightened of the torn of this father, the prince broke off his relationship with the princess.
The princess felt like she was dead on the inside. She missed her prince so much; she couldn’t eat, sleep or drink. She was crying all day. After a month of mourning she started to eat and drink again, it took her two months before she slept trough the night. She understood he would never return and she tried to move on.
The prince seemed to have moved on, a long time before the princess could even sleep. The first time the prince and princess met in society, after their separation, he had another princess at his side. The princess pretended she didn’t care and pretended she had the best time of her life. She felt sore and she wished she hadn’t seen him, because she loved him so much.
Months passed by and the princess started to live again. The prince, however, realised how much he missed her and how much he loved her. He thought of many way of getting her back. He even talked to his father and persuaded him to throw a ball and to invite every princess in the country. His father, the king, agreed with his son, without knowing the real reason for this sudden desire for a ball, and in a fortnight one thrown. The ball was beyond our mortal imagination.
The princess had received an invitation to the ball and was glad to hear it was a masked ball. She still loved her prince and hoped she could see a glimpse of him. All her friends and her family told her she shouldn’t go, they were frightened she’d come home, broken.
The princess didn’t listen to her relatives and went. Her gown was made of golden silk and her face was hidden beyond a beautiful golden veil. As she approached the castle in her white carriage, the prince was getting ready for the ball. He wore a black suit, with a golden crown in his hair; his mask was made of black substance that isn’t known to mankind.

The prince searched for the princess in the crowd, but whenever he thought he found her, he was wrong. The princes, however, had seen him and she saw that he spoke to almost every young woman in the room. Her heart broke every time he spoke to one of the pretty princesses and she felt the desire to leave.
As she turned, the prince looked up and saw his beloved princess. He ran after her, calling out to her and, finally, made her stopped walking.
She had walked in to the garden. The sound of the music had dimmed to a background.
The handsome prince walked towards her and the beautiful princess felt her knees shake.
‘I love you, I’ve been a fool and I hope you can forgive me. I don’t ever want to be parted from you ever again.’ Spoke the prince.
‘I love you too. Yes, you’ve been a fool, but so have I, I didn’t fight for you. I forgive you and I don’t ever want to be parted from you ever again.’ Replied the princess.

Happily ever after, you may think. This, however, isn’t the end of the tale. Soon after their reconciling, they made plans to wed one another. His family didn’t approve and the prince was taken away from his princess, again.
The prince was forced to marry someone else and the princess died on the spot; she died of a broken heart.

To those who intent to break their lovers heart, think twice and remember the princess who died of a broken heart.

Warning: Horror ahead!

Warning: The following is not meant for anyone with a weak stomach, who gets nightmare easily or is scared quickly in general. Be warned!


I screamed. Blood was pouring out of the skies like tears flowing over a cheek, the sewars boiled up blood red eyes, the tree leafs were replaced with recently cut off ears, blood dripping from the earlobes, beheaded zombies raised their bloodied arms and started to creep forward. I backed away as quickly as I could. I ran into a alley with no way out..
The walls were like gushing rivers of human insides. I surpressed the urge to vomit and I swallowed the fear that had gotten a hold of my body, that had climbed up my throat, that was paralyzing my tongue.
The zombies closed in on me. They were only five foot away from me, hauling rickling iron shackles, making growling noises. They stopped four foot away from me. Just one zombie continued to creep forward, crouched to the ground, progressing slowly. His clothes were ripped apart and I saw red stains on his skin. His skin was not only red, but also brownish, grenish and purplish. Like it had been thrown of a tall building.
Completly bruised and broken.
The dicapitated corpse was limping closer, holding a bloody chainsaw, which snarled furiously.
He heaved the dripping thing over the place where his head was suppose to be and I shrank back. I tripped over a dead body lying behind me. I did not take the time to look at the face, did not bother to think of who it might be. I crawled back to my feet and tried to search for an opening in the wall. The zombie stepped forward and held the chainsaw further above the empty spot that once had held a face. I saw him coming. I couldn't make a sound. I was too terrified. The chainsaw flashed forward as I raised my hands to protect my face. How useless.

"Honey! Honey! Wake up!" My lover's face was only inches away from mine, looking anxious. Thank god, it was only a nightmare. Still shaking from the intensity, I snuggled closer into his arms.

The end.

No, this wasn't a real dream of mine. I just wrote this down during a boring class. I've edited the original a bit (so this is the edited part).

Take Charge rewritings

One of my best friends and I came across the funniest piece of writing ever, Margaret Atwood's 'Take Charge'. She had written five different situation and used for all of them the same phrasing. We decided to rewrite those situations. This was the outcome!

The ice age
- Sir, the spear tooth is coming! He hasn’t eaten in days! And we are a fat tribe, you know that!
- Don’t just shiver there, you fat-ass. Go and sacrifice yourself!
- Sir, I can’t walk.
- May all the holy spirits curse your soul! No help for it, I’ll have to do it myself. Role me over to the beast then.
- Sir, my ass is frozen to the ground.
- Well do the best you can.

The ancient times
- Sir, your crown of leafs is burning!
- Don’t you just bow there, you slave! Get me some water to extinguish it!
- Sir, I can’t, there is no water here in this area! Only sand!
- By Jupiter, I’m not an ostrich. No help for it, I’ll do it myself. Take me to the sand!
- Sir, you can’t, there is a fight between gladiators and lions going on!
- Well do the best you can.

Year zero
- Sir, my water broke! Dear God, what to do?
- Don’t you stand there you fake virgin! Take off your pants and jacket[1]!
- Sir, I can’t move, the baby is coming, and I’m in such pain!
- Oh, Jesus Christ! No help for it, I’ll do it myself. Spread you legs please.
- Sir, this is called harassment! You are not going to help me!
- Well do the best you can!

Middle ages
- Sir, the sodomites have broken our door and burned Maria Magdalena!
- Don’t just kneel there, you God-fearing peasant! Pray to God to help us, for we will be lost without him.
- Sir, I’m just a simple man from the country.
- For the love of all that is holy, why has He sent me you? No help for it, I’ll just have to do it myself. Bring me the light of our Holiness.
- Sir, my legs are gone.
- Well, do the best you can!

Romantics
- Sir, Miss Edwards has eloped with Mr. Woodberry. They’ve been seen last in the city, I’ve been told by our friendly neighbour, Mrs. Walter.
- Don’t just sit there, you ill-tempered woman! Fetch me a pencil and a piece of paper. Then call for the servant.
- Sir, my poor nerves are in no condition to do anything!
- Good gracious, what am I suppose to do with you, you life taking, gossiping little queen of Satan’s paradise. No help for it, I’ll have to do it myself, get me my wheelchair.
- Sir, we are in the nineteenth century, there is no such a thing!
- Well, do the best you can!

[1] Fourth album of Blink-182