tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60725302011-07-08T04:19:11.708-07:00PannaA story -- originally created for NaNoWriMo, I gave up and just turned this into a creative writing collage. And so, all my brain farts find their way here....shipponoreply@blogger.comBlogger121100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-29447079031742250832009-10-02T07:17:00.000-07:002009-10-02T07:17:10.110-07:00We were packing furiously to leave, because earlier our mother, who was always cold and overprotective at the same time, had vanished.  She left a bitter taste in our mouths anyway.  The plane was leaving soon, and I already knew I was planning to take two suitcases- one within the other. But I looked on my laptop. Mother was online.  And, for some reason, I knew that if I asked her questions shipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-85802397667228511232008-11-24T21:25:00.003-08:002008-11-24T21:42:50.149-08:00Forgotten.Every moment. Every second.When did it all go? I reckoned.Was there a point when my brainSaid it all was in vainAnd gave up trying to holdMy mind to a mold?shipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-26765811331117249682008-11-24T21:24:00.001-08:002008-11-24T21:24:55.449-08:00Going with the flow, hoping something catches me as the tornado of life sweeps me all over, grinding me into the ground one moment and tossing me high. A helpless doll. Confused and dizzy, I sighout loud, a desperate plea forhelp, lost in the roar of everything and everyone aroundme.All that rushing.Do they know where they'regoing? Just going going. What's above?Below?Why am I here? Lost in the shipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-30088848270417800842007-07-31T21:12:00.000-07:002007-07-31T21:14:47.078-07:00It was a large, flat field, and the two of us had just landed and thrown are wing blades to one side. That was when he began attacking. We ran—oh, how we ran. Without our wing blades, we were incapable of getting close to him, and each jab was more and more dangerous as his bloodshot, rage-filled eyes hunted us down."We have to stop him," she cried out.But how could I, I wondered, when I still shipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-1141224513860561712006-03-01T06:24:00.000-08:002006-03-01T06:48:33.906-08:00I sit in the quiet buzz of the classroom, and the brown chalkboard and fading bulletin board with faded letters seem to close in slightly on me. Lightly breathing, the life of the room whispers its way around each desk, leg, and chair. The fluorescent lighting, reminiscent of the '80s, give no warmth, but their presence, so old and begging for replacement, allow a sense of familiarity and shipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-1114633808244204212005-04-27T13:15:00.000-07:002005-04-27T13:30:08.246-07:00Ad libbed from nowhere. Or the depths of somewhere. The hole is empty. We may disregard it now.A question. --begin--There is a boy I know. He lives down my hall, actually. On the same side of the building, but much further down. Not that I ever go down the boys' side. The girls' side is so much cleaner. Fresher. Better smelling. Better looking. Definitely. Back to the boy. He isn't large. In factshipponoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-1102956952976118892004-12-13T08:05:00.000-08:002004-12-13T08:55:52.976-08:00Technically speaking, Mari's world had always been more on the boring side. Every day was routine. In the morning she would blink back the haze that was sleep and shuffle into her kitchen. There, she would pour herself a bowl of cereal and a cup of milk. She would sit silently, staring at the leaves on the tree just outside of the small window above her sink. It was the only patch of color in theshipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-1090959874132927472004-07-27T13:08:00.000-07:002004-07-27T13:24:34.133-07:00It was a museum courtyard. There was a large model of the solar system, with delicate-looking, green-patina'd metal filigree holding the planets in place. The courtyard was large and filled with boxy white structures made of plaster-like substance/concrete with flowers and plant-life overflowing. There was a good-sized pool. Shallow, but highly reflective of the bright lights around. It was nightshipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-1090616156325174402004-07-23T12:31:00.000-07:002004-07-23T13:55:56.326-07:00"He can't blow red fire anymore." There was a sigh of regret, almost sorrow. "And that would be unnatural, HOW?" Eyes narrowed and brow knitted, confused. A slight pout at the lips. "Well, now he spits BLUE fire." shipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-1080763716048686672004-03-31T12:08:00.000-08:002004-03-31T16:23:24.090-08:00"She has not awakened." The man who had appeared at Panna's door was now pacing back and forth at a furious rate on a lush red carpet. Already the work of his feet on the carpet could be seen as a small circle of depressed fibers. "Calm down, Kema. Don't be so agitated," a man ordered from behind a large desk, "And stop that pacing. It's distracting." Kema stopped in front of the other man, shipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-1070505179849952652003-12-03T18:32:00.000-08:002004-01-18T22:01:54.250-08:00“Panna? Please let me–” He took a step toward the girl in the doorway. “NO! Get away!” Almost in a state of panic, Panna yelled out and thrust out a hand and shoved the man away from her doorstep and slammed the door. The man had been shoved back by her shove to nearly the end of her walkway- a strangely far distance even for such an abrupt and hard push. He tried to take a step toward the doorshipponoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6072530.post-1068696336159946782003-11-12T20:05:00.000-08:002003-11-12T21:05:01.430-08:00It was the same dream again. Every night, she dreamt the same dream, over and over again. The dreams had begun soon after her seventeenth birthday. Night after night, the same dream invaded her sleep and forced her to experience it, over and over again, like a TV series that decided to create a season of reruns. It had gotten so that the images from the dream were ingrained deep into her mind, shipponoreply@blogger.com0