Monday, 22 April 2013

In Letters

Dear you,

If I could tell you in person, if words can convey what I want you to know, this would be really, truly, amazingly easy. If I could stand in front of you, without my breath escaping me and my heart sinking, I could say it. I could tell you what I’ve been meaning to tell you for the past eight years.

I have known you for more than eight and half years and I am sure most of them have flown by in endless sleepless nights. The bags under my eyes, you are to blame for those. I don’t know why I must be telling you this, finally and in this obscure way, after all those years of manic silence. I don’t know what has caused me to suddenly awaken from my intricately woven strings of slumber and reach out to my desk to finally colour blank pages with blue ink– in a seemingly hopeless bid to express my feelings.

Another one of my old words. A letter too late.

The Face of War

f I tell you about my brother, you would laugh and tell me to stop joking that this idiot was out to fight the war.
My brother was a bag of bones returning from a fistfight. He was the tiny stick-like figure trying to push himself into family photographs. He wouldn’t stand two minutes in a five-round, for he’d be out in the first ten seconds. Weak in words and weaker in the bones, you could not put your finger on which way he’d go. You don’t know him as I do.

Well, it turns out my writing appetite cannot be satisfied by quitting so soon. So here is a short story I'd written a while earlier. I am just getting rid of some things written before. The story is about a man sending his brother off to war and the sad endings of the same.

Monday, 1 April 2013

The Beginning

Well, got good news for you. Today I received an e-mail stating that my story "Farewell" has been chosen as the Story of the Month at yourstoryclub!

As I await my first 'paycheck' I am so happy to finally receive something from the other end. You know, after so long I have heard from anyone and I am so willing to drive a bit further. Every appreciating word makes me feel as though I am not doing this for naught. 

It's been quite a while since I started writing on my Dad's old computer, and today I feel I have come a long significant way from there. 

So maybe there are some, new beginnings?