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Theme Writing
Theme Writing
While looking at some of the old threads from before I came across some post about Theme Writing. I realy liked the idea, so I decided to create my own.
Theme writing is when I choose a theme and your job is to write a diary entry, very short story, dialouge, or scenery based on the theme. Your name and age can be the same but the location must be something that relates to the theme.
I will post new themes each week. I'll post the first theme soon. If you've got your own ideas for themes, post them below!
submitted by Nina, age 11, Florida
(January 13, 2014 - 7:34 pm)
(January 13, 2014 - 7:34 pm)
Cool!
So, if True reads this, I'm going to use the setting from the future of our time travel thread when we all died.
Wind whistles through the streets, blowing trash in my path. I pull the jacket closer around me, pulling the hood in front of my face. I cough at the dust which settles over every inch of my body, turning my blond hair grey. I try to muffle the sound. I don't want to be found. Evening is setting in, making the world darker. This works for and against me. It helps shield me from the soldiers. But it also increases the chance of meeting unfriendly characters. Thankfully, most of the street wanderers are my friends. And anyway, I've always prefered the night to the day.
"Staf. Staf!" I hissed, glancing around. The door creaked open just a crack, a sliver of a young man's face showing.
"Elare," he said, opening it wider and breathing a sigh of relief. I slipped inside, a sense of temporary safety filling me. My muscles, which had been tense and ready for action, relaxed some, and I found I was breathing easier.
"They were starting to doubt," he said, helping me remove my coat.
I snorted. "Of course they were." I moved in front of the smudged, dirty mirror, gazing scrutinizingly at my reflection. My good eye stared back, a bright blue. My other eye was a hazy grey, and instead of gazing straight ahead, looked slightly off to the left. I shook my hair, trying to get as much dust and ash out as possible, then turned to Staf.
"I'm ready," I said firmly. He nodded, and led me upstairs.
****
Two hours later, I was pulling my coat on once more, ready to head back out.
"You sure you can do this?" Staf asked, looking concerned. Big brothers always were.
"Yes, I think so," I said, smiling slightly. My mission was to sneak into a nearby military base, and learn the army's next move.
"I'll be back soon," I whispered, and hugged Staf, then headed out into the early morning.
***
Lights shone from the buildings that used to be known as Lincoln Center (True, the setting was just too perfect). Now it was a wreck from soldiers camping there for the last year and a half.
"Nothing to it," I muttered, and began making my way toward the main tent. By no means was it easy, consisting of several close calls, uncomfortable positions, hiding in shadows, and ducking behind anything tv size or bigger. Finally, I managed make it to the back of the Captain's tent.
"Time for a distraction," I whispered, hitting a button on my watch. Instantly, a loud crack echoed five hundred yards outside the camp perimeter, along with a flash of red light. The Captain and his men immediately hurried from the tent, heading in the direction of the light. I ducked beneath the tent wall, and went to work. I rifled through papers, letters, and searched through the computer data. I was sure to leave everything exactly as it was, as I had some experience doing this. Within just a moment or so, I found what I was looking for.
"Jackpot!" I said, tucking the papers inside my coat. I ducked beneath the tent wall and was off. I followed the same pattern I'd used to get to the tent, avoiding anywhere with light.
You got this, you got this, I thought as I panted. I thought I was almost in the clear. How could I have known about that one soldier.
"Halt!" came the voice directly behind me. I kept running, but turned to look.
BANG!
Then... nothing. Nothing at all.
_________________________________________________________________________________
So, the theme for this was the government turned evil and took over. Elare is part of a Sons of Liberty type group.
(January 20, 2014 - 11:17 pm)
New writing theme! For this week's theme, write something about any time in history. Choose your favorite era of history! :)
(January 25, 2014 - 11:46 am)
I sat, fidgeting, in my chair.
"Mr. Monet? Do I need to come and rap your knuckles?" Ms. Ilson, my teacher, said.
"No, Miss Ilson," I replied.
"You better not be sketching again!"
"I'm not!"
My cheeks grew hot as I remembered last week, when I'd been sketching the kitten sitting outside the classroom window while Miss Ilson was droning off about some GREAT poet. Puu-leeeze. She'd seen me sketching and grabbed the rough sketch right out of my hands, showed the class, and threw it into the kettle stove. Boy, did that make me mad. I was going to use that to base my next painting off of!
. . .
After class, I ran straight home, not caring that I dirtied my nice new school trousers.
"Hey mother!" I shouted. "I'm off painting!"
"Wai--" My mother started, but I was already gone.
I grabbed my paints, pallette and brushes, and canvas and was gone, out to the fields, to paint the day away....
A.N. (author's note)~~
I do not know if this is historically correct--it probably isn't--but it was just kind of what I envisioned of Monet's childhood. I did not do any research or otherwise--which I probably should've--and only used my own imagination.
(January 26, 2014 - 2:53 pm)
"Hurry up, you lazy things!" the slave master came walking through the fields, whipping the slaves if he felt that they were not working hard or fast enough. Adel bent over the tobacco plant that she was picking worms off, and tried not to think of her father.
Just yesterday, a wealthy plantation owner had come to the plantation where she, her family, and many other slaves lived, and bought her father and another strong man to work in his tobacco fields.
Momma had held Adel a long time before saying,"Adeel, we are going to escape this plantation, tomorrow night."
"Will we go with Poppa?" Adel asked.
"No," Momma said softly,"Poppa will escape his plantation when he can, if he can, but the time has come for us to leave the plantation." She had then proceeded to tellme, in hushed whispers, how she planned to make the escape.
So Adel worked very hard that next day, knowing that it was her last day of picking worms off tobacco plants.
At last, the slave master told the slaves that they could retire to their hut for the night. Momma and Adel walked together into the hut, made supper with some other slave women, and ate, but they did not undress from the night.
When it was fully dark, Momma took Adel's hand, and together, they stepped outside, and began walking in the shadows towards the woods.
After they had walked for several hours, they stopped at a house that was marked on the map one of the slaves had given Momma before she left. It was an Underground Railroad map. After hiding at the house all the next day, Adel and Momma set out again just after dark.
That night, Momma hurt her knee, and could not walk to the nearest Underground Railroad station, as they were called. So Adel hid her in some bushes, but on some boy's clothes, and walked bravely into a Confederate camp. There, she chatted with the soldiers, and got plenty of food and medicine to give Momma. After resting in the woods all night, they quietly hurried to the nearest Underground Railroad station.
But that was the wrong time for them to be at thet house. In the middle of the afternoon, Confederate soldiers came to the house and searched it for runnaway slaves. It was a miracle how they remained unseen.
After many weeks of running and hiding and hunger and tiredness, Momma and Adel were in Pennsilvania, where they were free.
Many years later, when Adel was almost grown, Poppa found them and built them a house, where they lived together, happy and free.
Author's Note~~~~~
This may or may not be historically correct, but parts of it are.
(January 29, 2014 - 7:53 am)
Nina, Lottie wanted me to tell you that she hasn't had any real spare time to write a story this week, and she'll try do one this weekend, but she might not be able to this week. So just don't be expecting me to post her story this week!
(February 1, 2014 - 7:58 am)
Top!
(January 25, 2014 - 11:47 am)
top
(January 26, 2014 - 12:00 pm)
This was meant to be a personal writing exercise on working with different forms for the future prompt, and somehow ended up being a space cowboy romance with lots of Firefly and pirate undertones.
Part 1: Getcha Hands Offa My Ship (conversation for two)
"Your taste is deplorable."
"Well excuse me. This, this right here, this is an excellent gun. They don't make them like this anymore. The blast radius from a G16 charge is fabulous and the and you won't believe the Dartling range on this thing. But the best part- hey, could you go stand over by that wall? Cuffs where I can see them? Come on, please? You know what, fine, just stay there. As I was saying, the best part is the nine millimeter Terrence shell Fifeling system control-"
"Interesting..."
"Oops."
"I swear to Rathfa I have no idea how you're still floating around Collins. You are an imbecile."
"It's an excellent gun, Sylin, I just-"
"You nearly shot off my knee you idiot! Why don't you ask your crew how expensive cyberkinetics are?"
"Leave my crew out of it, Officer. I sometimes-"
"And I here I thought you had some semblance of competence. Have you no idea how to aim? Do you nearly shoot out your own eye every morning?"
"...I was going to say that I sometimes have aiming problems. I'm the Captain of this ship, not the gunner."
"Collins I don't give a god's elbow about your gun. Your ship is a piece of junk and-"
"Shut up!"
"Your interruption of a federal officer is noted. Your ship is a piece of junk and if the hull sustains a D-Zorian blast of of 6.5 thloques or higher from any Regulation Class 2 ship or higher in the area under the Markus back up engine the hull will be ripped and multiple interior structures will sustain severe damage."
"Oh. Um.. thanks, I guess. Yeah, thanks. Wait- why do you care? What's in it for you, Officer?"
"I follow the law and the law wants you imprisoned for your crimes, not dead."
"Well for all you know the Markus back up engine area is storage and the dig locks would stop anything serious from being lost."
"..."
"Unless..."
"..."
"... unless you knew the crew quarters are next to the backup Markus because you scanned my ship with the new tech from Ombrivia. You scanned my ship, didn't you?"
"..."
"You. Scanned. My. Ship."
"Standard procedure, Captain Collins."
"I hate you. I hate you. One of these days, Officer, I'm going to dump you on some Rathfa forsaken planet and leave you there."
"..."
"What now?"
"I've been promoted."
"Promoted? For what? Don't go thinking we're equals now, I've still got a ship but you got nothing. I mean, how did you even ever have time to go and get yourself promoted if you've been chasing after me all this time?"
"You are not as dangerous or as high a priority as you would like to believe, Captain Collins."
"-I hate you."
"..."
"Hey, um..."
"..."
"Someone should be down soon enough with water and food. Don't try to escape or anything like you did last time, kay?"
"You do not represent a dangerous threat to my general well being or to the well being of others, only to yourself. I am in good condition and self extraction is possible. Procedure and my own pride dictates I attempt to leave."
"You look all serious when you talk like that. Like I said, Captain Sylin, someone will be down. See ya."
"I was promoted to Captain three months after our first encounter."
"...Oh?"
"The Commander promoted me to Hawkeye two weeks ago."
"Well then, Hawkeye Sylin-"
"Is it really wise to send one of your crew down here to feed me? The Hawkeye rank brings a different set of protocols."
"Hate. You."
"Don't let your overinflated egotistical brain bang the doorframe as you leave."
"Hate you!"
_____________
Part 2: Homespun Silver (The narrator thinks you're beautiful)
The first time I see Captain Anthea Collins without her ship is the first time I see her in a dress.
Fact: We are at the same party, hosted by the husband of Chulia Tykronian who runs Tykrobiokinetics Incorporated, the largest biokinetics company in the Federation.
Fact: I am here to arrest a criminal.
Fact: The criminal mentioned is not Captain Anthea Collins of the Tyler-98O class ship Bluehelm.
Fact: She is not supposed to be here.
Fact: She looks beautiful.
Query: What is she doing here?
Collins does not belong here and she certainly is not supposed to be waltzing with the thief I'm here to arrest.
I make my way across the balcony overlooking the hall, take a drink from a passing server. Orange juice. This party is needlessly extravagant and historic. Collins isn't even trying to fit in, wearing a dark blue sleeveless atrocity that hasn't been in style for centuries. But of course in two weeks time everyone who wears a dress will have something like that. Collins does that. Not bringing low backed shiny dresses back into style, but running around and unknowingly changing the world by smashing it with a sledgehammer, unintentionally and repeatedly. It's a talent of hers.
She really does look beautiful tonight, her hair floating around her head and her dress sailing behind her. Of course, the fact that she's wearing the same black boots she wears to wrestle with pigs in the dirt and that she's dancing with a kidnapper ruin the picture a bit, especially because I know she's got at least one small laser gun tucked down those boots of hers because she has pulled that trick on me more than once.
This was supposed to be reconassaince, we didn't even know if it was our convict attending. Low level, easy work for a Wyly night. But he's dancing down there, dancing with her and she can't know I'm here or she might alert him.
I eat some little finger sandwiches and wait.
I take my eyes off the two of them for five seconds and when I turn back they have vanished.
Begin orderly visual search pattern of occupants.
Neither detected.
Switch Tykronian eye to infrared. Scan but the walls block too much.
I have to wait.
Then the gunshots begin, and I'm following them like a moth to flame.
Several panting breaths later I'm standing next to Collins on a balcony.
"Rathfa! Oh- Offic- Hawkeye Sylin!" she says, flustered. She leans awkwardly against the balcony rail. She doesn't blush and I make note of that. She must not have any origins in Lyllyyil. This information may be of some use in the future. Collins holds her right behind her back, hidden in the folds of her dress. Definitely hiding one of her favorite little guns. "I-uh didn't expect to see you here? Nice-nice party, isn't it?" Her brown eyes go wide as she looks at my dress, my lack of shoes. "Wha- What in the name of Rathfa are you wearing?"
I smooth the edge of my dress- a simple black affair that suits my cover identity. "I hadn't realized there was something wrong with it," I say. It is only after the words leave my mouth that I realize how still and quiet I have become, as though I care about Collins' opinion of my dress, and I want to swallow my words back and say them as I am , because I am a Ganari blessed federal agent with steel for bones and ice for an opinion and I will not be self conscious because of a criminal making comments about my choice in clothing for the evening.
"No, no, not like that." Collins is instantly dismayed. "I just meant- you look like you work in an office and do, do logistics or something!"
Then she pulls her gun on me. I'm getting slow. I should revisit my training courses.
I fight for calm. Steady heartbeat, steady hands. Steady heartbeat, steady feet. Steady heartbeat, steady fights.
Something is wrong with Collins. Her hand is shaking so hard she grabs her right wrist with her left hand to steady her aim. It almost works.
Think Sylin, think.
Not poisoned. Small ugn. Old, old old. Wood and metal- wouldn't trigger alarms. Small barrel. Necklace on her neck- strangle? No no no. Small barrel. Old gun. Six shots. Hexagons fit in circles and bees build honey combs. Wood and steel. Six. Shots. Six-
Six shots.
Remember Sylin, remember.
bang some hear and look up
bang everyone hears it now that's her that's her
bang I'm running up the stairs
rit tat tat not her gun don't get yourself killed Collins don't get yourself killed
bag bag break down the door (the lock equals weak point) run down the hallway (lose the heels) break the door to the balcony (Collins don't please don't do this to your crew [me] don't do this to your ship [me] don't do this to me I don't want to see you die)
rit tat tat NO run down the length of the balcony
bang.
Skid around the corner Anthea Collins don't just don't
She stands silhouetted against twin blue moons.
Six shots allowed.
Six shots made.
She's out of bullets.
She knows it.
I know it.
She knows the wires running under my skin. She knows the machinery where useless organs used to be. She knows the the cuffs on my wrists aren't decoration. She's got no bullets. No EMP. She knows. I know.
I raise my hands. Say: "Not here for you, Captain." And wait.
She closes her eyes and breaths. Lowers the gun. Safety on. Crouches down to tuck it into her boot. I breathe too.
Collins waves herh and towards a pair of doors behind us. "He's in there." She doesn't ask for confirmation that he s indeed the theif I'm chasing after. "Clocked him on the head."
"How?" It doesn't add up.
"Bookshelf," she says sheepishly. "I shot down a hanging bookshelf and it fell on his head."
This girl.
I fix my inhuman eye on her. "The following will be recorded and may be used as evidence in court with your permission."
"Okay." She smooths her dress. "Um- I guess you want an account of the fight." I nod. The eye compensates for the movement, holds steady. "He knew who I was after bout two seconds." Her voice is clear and strong. Her fingers trace the scar that divides her eyebrow and curls around her cheek. It is her most recognizable feature, and while easily removed, I believe she has neither the time nor the funds to spare on cosmetics. Yet I did not know she was in anyway ashamed of it because she has always worn in like a badge of honor around me. I don't know who put it there. The thought that it might have been the Federation chills my bones. "He knew who I am. What I do. Had some use for my, uhm, smuggling thing." She swallows. Incriminating evidence, admitting to illegal activity. "Yeah, the smuggling thing. He wanted to transfer some stock. People stock. I said no, we started fighting, he started shooting. I shot back. I shot down a hanging bookcase and it fell on his head."
That's all the evidence I need from her. I stop recording. "Thank you. Your assisstance and cooperation has been noted by the Federation."
I have a gun strapped to the small of my back and a built in weapons system. She has no bullets. I saw none of her crew here tonight. I still don't know why she was here or how she wrangled in an invitation. I could arrest her here. Protocol says I should arrest her.
"You are free to go," I tell her. "Thank you for your services."
Collins darts down the balcony, away from me. She stops at the corner and looks back me. Her usual impish grin has returned. "By the way Hawkeye," she calls back to me. She sparkles under the light of twin blue moons and even at this distance I can see the playful glint in her eyes. "You look good in that dress."
"You do too," I call her. Wait she- looks good in my dress? Looks good? What am I saying? "Look good, I mean."
Captain Anthea Collins tilts her chin. "Thank you," she says in an oddly prideful sort of way. Then she vaults over the railing. The balcony we are on is a hundred and fifty feet in the air.
Of course she vaults over the railing.
This girl.
_____________
Part 3: Ganari Blessed (I don't write love songs) (love songs are stupid) (I don't like guitars) (I hate banjos) (but poems) (poems) (I'd write poems for you)
it happens
more and more like this
the world balances on a seesaw
and now I'm getting back what I've taken
it happens.
more and more like this.
she holds all the cards
resources and beauty, intelligence and strength
a dash of empathy
and I hold none
It's a bit like nooses dragging fish through the sea
And ugly thing.
My doctor
My smart amazing doctor who wears silly glasses and cries in silly movies
My doctor nearly died today
Too much too far
but the wheels keep churning
the engines keep thrumming
And I keep running out of cards
One of these days
sooner or later
Sharp eyed and cool
gonna hunt us down.
I wish upon all the stars I see
that she might run away with me
_________________
Part 4: Tonight don't mean nothing in space (It's always dark here)
File Name:ASDOIDJ74JJ8239JSKNCO089
Clearance Level: ZXZ
Case: A-COLLINS
Case Status: Active
File Type: Audio
File Notes: Retrieved from M-SYLIN personal files. Audio recorded 35.2 hours before incident ASDLNZ.Z72057MXJWKJ
Transcript:
A-C: Hey.
M-S: This is becoming exceedingly dangerous.
A-C: I just wanted to say hi.
M-S: I know.
A-C: Are you going to be around any time soon?
M-S: Not for a while.
A-C: Kitty misses you.
M-S: You named the kitten Kitty.
A-C: So what?
M-S: (sighs) Would you leave the Federation?
A-C: What?
M-S: Would you leave the Federation?
A-C: No. Don't you dare. You are not deserting for me.
M-S: I'm too deeply embedded for them to let me go.
A-C: No. You've worked so hard for everything you have now, I can't let you just leave it all behind, no, no for me.
M-S: Anthea- would you run away with me?
A-C: I hate you.
A-C: I hate you. I hate you. Yes. Absolutely. Yes.
M-S: But the crew...
A-C: The crew needs to get away from the Federation. It's gotten too dangerous here.
M-S: I'll send you the location through other means. They're already watching me, and if I begin deleting large batches of information from my personal files someone will notice.
A-C: Kitty misses you.
M-S: Tell Kitty I said hello.
A-C: I miss you.
M-S: Tell... I miss you too.
A-C: Listen, I have to go now because right now we're fighting off a platoon of pirates and I don't like them or their ship. Also their leader said bad things about my baby Bluehelm, so I'm going to go rip some essential parts off their ship. Kay? Kay. Oh man the back up Markus was just blown up. Love you, bye sweetie pie! Actually ew no I am never calling you sweetie pie that is too weird. Bye!
A-COLLINS disconnects
M-S: (laughs) This girl.
End Transcript.
35.2 hours after recorded conversation, M-SYLIN began assault on Federation Hawkeye Headquarters, immediately followed by her dissertion.
Recommended course of action: Decomission Hawkeye MADIA-SYLIN. Pursue of MADIA-SYLIN and ANTHEA-COLLINS and crew of QW710 ship BLUEHELM.
Predicted Outcome: Failure.
Revised recommended course of action: Change case status to inactive unless M-SYLIN, A-COLLINS or known crew of BLUEHELM (see File 93JCOSJM) enter Federation. Do not pursue.
______________________
Agh the last part feels completely out of character and I don't like the transcript or the poem but agh I needed to have some sort of conclusion.
Also, I know this was for last week's theme, but I've been writing it in parts over the week.
(January 26, 2014 - 6:18 pm)