Writing Prompt for6/7/2007:
Recount your most vivid dream. (500 words or fewer):
I am ten. It is a strange dream I’ve had on many occasions and won’t be able to attribute to anything until I get much older. I am looking on a cutaway of a piece of earth. Really, it’s more of a vertical hole in the mud. There are at three levels. There are two large mud balls on the middle level. They roll and roll and roll. When they roll away from each other, I feel a sharp pain in my head. They don’t care. They continue to pull apart, stretching each other’s sides like bubble gum caught between the pavement and your shoe. It hurts. It hurts so bad, I think I might die. I try to cry, nothing comes out. I wake up.
If you know me, then you might know what I was going through at this age and the re-telling of this dream might break your widdle heart. It was an ordeal that my hard, outer shell will not let fully explore, no matter how long I sit here and stare at the blinking cursor. I surrender and try to trust that when I am ready, it will come.
There was this dream my Dad told me I told him that I had when I was younger. He loved it so much he drew up a visual representation, and put it onto a patch for the quilt my mom made me. I’ll retell it for you but if you steal it or any part of it, I’ll murder you.
There is a table. On the table sits a bowl of tomato soup. Around the bowl, licorice jellybeans dance. That’s pretty much it. Actually, I’m not sure if it was tomato soup or whatnot. I only know it was soup. And I’m not even sure if they were licorice jellybeans, I only know they were black. Actually, I don’t even know that they were black! I thought it was a pretty cool visual and apparently, so did Dad. Refresh my memory, Dad? I think this one needs an illustration to help you out. Maybe two. I’ll get started on that.
Recount your most vivid dream. (500 words or fewer):
I am ten. It is a strange dream I’ve had on many occasions and won’t be able to attribute to anything until I get much older. I am looking on a cutaway of a piece of earth. Really, it’s more of a vertical hole in the mud. There are at three levels. There are two large mud balls on the middle level. They roll and roll and roll. When they roll away from each other, I feel a sharp pain in my head. They don’t care. They continue to pull apart, stretching each other’s sides like bubble gum caught between the pavement and your shoe. It hurts. It hurts so bad, I think I might die. I try to cry, nothing comes out. I wake up.
If you know me, then you might know what I was going through at this age and the re-telling of this dream might break your widdle heart. It was an ordeal that my hard, outer shell will not let fully explore, no matter how long I sit here and stare at the blinking cursor. I surrender and try to trust that when I am ready, it will come.
There was this dream my Dad told me I told him that I had when I was younger. He loved it so much he drew up a visual representation, and put it onto a patch for the quilt my mom made me. I’ll retell it for you but if you steal it or any part of it, I’ll murder you.
There is a table. On the table sits a bowl of tomato soup. Around the bowl, licorice jellybeans dance. That’s pretty much it. Actually, I’m not sure if it was tomato soup or whatnot. I only know it was soup. And I’m not even sure if they were licorice jellybeans, I only know they were black. Actually, I don’t even know that they were black! I thought it was a pretty cool visual and apparently, so did Dad. Refresh my memory, Dad? I think this one needs an illustration to help you out. Maybe two. I’ll get started on that.
Oh well I only finished one. So sue me. Something like this anyways.
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