Written by Lost in a Dream/xnicc
Golden horizon: The fragrance of summer, sun-kissed.
Harvest is past, summer is ended, And we are not saved.
Jerimiah 8:20
I stare longingly at the photo in the frame.
I remember the smells that coloured the scene
Salt, coconut, cigarettes–
The fragrance of summer, our summer.
Sun-kissed. Golden. Happy.
You, me and the horizon.
Encapsulated. Contained. Perfect.
(Song Lyrics)
Written by EdgeofMidnight
Observing: A row of ravens
Image Courtesy of http://www.natureali.org
The croaking of ravens,
The cawing of crows,
The wind whistling through the trees,
Lined all in rows.
This place hasn’t changed,
Since the last time I came.
The gravely path
And the grave with your name.
Written by Dice
Inspired: The Page is a Stage
There are many things to impress us in this world. The tall mountains that defy time herself and that let us stand and witness the shape of our world. From the rolling hills, the blistering deserts, the icy plains and the tropical forest to name but a few of the delights of this world.
There are many things to amaze us in this world. The great winding rivers who challenge the solid rock to block their route to the endless oceans, oceans that can make you dream of far off worlds. The oceans made the early dreamers dream, what could be beyond the impassable ocean, too large and too deep to cross. Of course today’s dreamers need not dream what is on the other side of the tiny oceans, it is but a boat, plane or a television away. But there is a new ocean, one where we may only paddle near the shores of our home.
Written by RicardoCC
It only seems like yesterday we were strolling along Blackpool beach together. Well, I say strolling, but I mean escaping. Burning time so that we didn’t have to go back to our father: “this holiday will be different, boys” he’d always say. But it never was. He always stayed out late, got drunk and, when he came back to the hotel, he’d beat our mother black and blue for not making the bed or not ordering his dinner for the next day. Then he’d turn on us if we weren’t asleep. Nobody could blame our mother for doing what she did. When they found her…
Written by Doishy
A piece of sky is unique, something that will only ever occur once and, despite certain theories involving infinite monkeys, will never be repeated exactly. The piece is defined by the time, weather, temperature and ultimately any outside effects upon this. It is because of these variables that certain skies and the pieces that make up them are more memorable than others. Each person has their own memorable pieces, perhaps the moonlit night where they first kissed their crush at a young age, the sparkling dawn as they awoke after a heavy night drinking or the sorrowful grey clouds of when they lost a favourite pet. All these pieces have memories attached to them and emotions that help define them.
Imagination can spill, overflow or be hard to come by but the Inkwell will never run dry.
And we hope it never will here at Inkblots and Typing Spots – a new webzine featuring writing spanning a number of different genres. For its summer launch a bunch of our talented writers have penned a few shorts as part of the monthly half hour challenge, with this month’s theme: A Piece of Sky.
The aim of the half hour challenge is to write a piece of fiction, non-fiction, script, poem etc in 30 minutes and no more. When our admin team have read through all entries, we select the best ones to go up on here. So if you’re interested you can visit our forum The Inkwell or simply email us at: creativewritinginkwell@hotmail dot com.
And from all of us at Inkblots, enjoy!
Inkblots and Typing Spots 