The Writing Project.

The sky hung above, a dark canopy covering society.
Frosted flakes fall upon the trees, and the unsuspecting grass.
The last snow of winter, they say is always the most beautiful.

Excitement filling children’s hearts, while parents dread the dangerous drive home.
Some say as you grow older, you lose the magic of winter.
Only to be revived through a kid’s laughter.

Snowmen stand in front lawns, with their beady eyes, and rustic orange noses.
Refusing to let the festivities end.
Until they meet their maker, as the sun will rise again.

Magic surrounds us, but not as what we perceive it to be.

From the very first time, I knew.
I knew I was to spend my life with you.
From the goosebumps on my arm, my insides shaking.
I knew at once, my heart was taken.

You took my hand, and you said ‘hello.’
Smelling of peppermint gum, and cigarette smoke.
Your smile spread across your face, contagious, it was.
The glitter in your eye, more beautiful than winter’s first frost.

I had known you most of my life, yet never truly met you.
Yet we both agreed that day, what we have is true.
Our lives entwined, our fingers laced.
I will never forget, our first embrace.
You held me in your arms, and swore to never let go.
I am complete, for I have you, I now know.

So i giftwrapped my heart, and gave it to you.
Hoping forever, our love stays true.

My palms, sweaty and my pencil shaking. Trying to hold on to which is, perhaps my last thread of sanity. My imagination hanging on a string, my heart holding the scissors, ready to throw away everything I have ever known. Nothing is ever good enough, and I’ve never been one to settle on imperfection. My life is dwindling before my eyes, the only sparks of colour hold my loved ones under their beautiful veil, holding out to me, in their arms encouragement, praise, support. Though nothing is ever good enough. I stare at the empty pages before me, and for now I am as blank as them. My mind is empty, too empty.

These walls have eyes, the doors have ears, listening to every little thing you’ve ever feared. They see past your false emotion, past the lies, the memories you never had. Transparent in a world you deem so important, struggling for breath, gasping to be heard. You want somebody to see you,  to know you, you need someone to listen. Although those who stand by you in times of sorrow, are never valued.

The passion inside me burns once again, and for now I feel alive. Another coffee, another sleepless night, afraid to lose this feeling. My mind reaching deep inside, down to my core where my darkest fears and wildest imagination lay, dusty from their troubled rest.

The world we live in today is a jungle. Wrapping it’s vines around your limbs, drawing you into situations you wish to avoid. The thorns, twisting in your side, and nothing around you seems as beautiful as it did before. There are shadowed clouds with raindrops of venom, the sky opening up and spitting on your face. The rumble of anger from above, and the innocent scurry, hiding themselves before they become the target.

I don’t know how it came to this.

I am writing this, more or less scribbling my thoughts down, to let you know (followers/potential followers) a little more about myself. So I don’t fade into this illusion of only being a blogger who posts writing and artwork, I want you to know the real me aswell. To start it off, hi, I’m Claire-Anne Brodie. It’s nice to, well, sort of, meet you.

I have adored writing and art for as long as I can remember, I wasn’t the usual tree-climbing child, I was more of a bookworm, pen and paper girl. I came across my love for art through my grandmother, who was brilliant at drawing and painting, I was always in awe at what she achieved through imagination and passion for the arts, although I developed my passion for writing through my fascination for books, I was ecstatic at the thought of the unknown worlds they could lead you to, through your own imagination. How every time someone different reads a book, not one person will envision the exact same, and how they can hold meaning to different people in so many unknown ways.

I live just outside of Glasgow, in Scotland, and I have done the majority of my life, apart from October 2010 - November 2011 in which I lived in England for a year with my partner and his family. Although it was nice down there, there was always something missing. I love my hometown, although a lot of people disagree.

If I were to be an animal I’d probably be a penguin, or something that lives where it’s cold. I’m not saying I don’t like ‘warm’ weather, I’d just like to not feel like I’m drowning in humidity, and anyway I can always sleep better when I’m cold. Or if I were to be an inanimate object, I’d like to be a buddha, just ‘cause they always look happy due to the large grins on their little chubby faces. My favourite time of year is winter, espescially when it snows. I like the way it can make even the muddiest of places look clean, like a fresh blanket just thrown over society, covering up the lies and mistakes of our countries.

I am an honest person, and I’ve been brought up with good discipline and morals which I’m grateful for. If it weren’t for my family I’d probably have turned out a lot different, but then again so would anybody. I don’t enjoy the company of those who ask questions and are offended/upset when they get the truth, if you don’t want it, don’t ask me. It’s as simple as that. I like people to make their own minds up about me, rather than listen to what they hear.

I am pretty sure I’ve rambled my thoughts aimlessly long enough, if you want to ask a question feel free.

This Is No Time For Clowning Around: Prologue.

The smell of the midnight air crawled deep within her skin, every last breath was almost precious. Night was her favourite time of day, the peace and quiet, when the world stopped for just a moment. Some say it’s the moment of rest, but to her it was when she felt most awake. Most alive. Everything fell silent underneath the moons hypnosis, not to be broken until dawn. Deep in the woods was where life stopped and dreams began, nothing to fear, or at least she thought.

A gentle breeze playing with her hair, torture playing with her thoughts. A subtle tear ran down her cheek, wondering why. Her eyes full of pain, her heart lacking hope. All Kayla wanted was to be somewhere, somewhere full of smiles and happiness. Where all she could hear was joyous laughter, where all she could see were faces smiling back at her.

Most of all, she wanted someone to care.

I intended my prologue to be alot longer than this, but I didn’t want to give too much away just yet.

Anyway, this is the first part of a story I’ve written in a long time. Opinions would be greatly appreciated.

The smell of the midnight air crawled deep within her skin, every last breath was almost precious. Night was her favourite time of day, the peace and quiet, when the world stopped for just a moment. Some say it’s the moment of rest, but to her it was when she felt most awake. Most alive. Everything fell silent underneath the moons hypnosis, not to be broken until dawn. Deep in the woods was where life stopped and dreams began, nothing to fear, or at least she thought.

Beginning of my Prologue for my short story. Opinions?