Category Archives: Writing

whisper to the rain-strung sky


It’s one of those kinds of days again. Just like yesterday. And the day before, and the day before that. The sky is tense, as if unsure whether to give up its swollen belly of rain. Stray water droplets escape from the clouds and coalesce in a smoky, silver fog glittering between tree branches.

On the other side of the cold glass window, delicate leaflets billow in brilliant yellow; they are restless canaries weaving and darting through the wind. The fading colour of the flaxen leaves is still so painfully vibrant, a careless splatter of colour on the dull green from the dying summer. They remind me of nostalgic tears, a lament in the wind, of being trapped in the perpetual cycle of dying and living.

There, propped under the crumbling golden canopy is something lonely and forgotten—a rusty bike. Like wistful memories, it leans quietly, unobtrusively in the shadows, in calm waiting. Perhaps someday a hand will wrap around the worn handles and slowly breathe lively life back into its rusted joints.

Inside, under my fingers the tired tables are rough with scratches. It is a battlefield pitted with old conversations, the pale illegible scribbles scars from idle amusement. The still air is strange with the complex musings of humans mixed with the simple swirling aroma of cooking and baking.

The shadows stretch and shiver in an eerie dance. I blink in surprise and look back outside. The leaves are gone now, off to fly across the world. Strange, contorting shadows are playing across the escarpment, dancing puppets of the restless clouds far above the scattered gold. Playing a game of hide-and-seek, the sun darts across the feathered shreds of blue like a wily child, teasing the world with a few seconds of radiant sunlight. Another flock of canary leaves flutter through the sky in aureate flecks. The leaves seem to glow, as if they are the shooting stars that fell in love with the trees. These, instead of soaring through the limitless sky, drift in listless monotone toward the ground, forever to be embraced by earth.

A sudden gust of wind shakes the few remain leaves on the branches into a flutter of frenzy, trembling in another desperate run away from home. If I press my ear to the bitterly cold window, I can hear to wondering whisper of leaves on the wind. The pensive echo in the empty sky, that is as deep and raw as the warm spring rain, the patient sound of a flower being cut. It is an augury of the cruel storm that is just on the horizon.

(Written at school for an English descriptive essay assignment)


The Dark Side of Young Adult Fiction


Take a look at this: The Dark Side of Young Adult Fiction

I found these — Ah, I suppose you would them debates? — recently, and thought this one was actually the perfect depiction of our current society:

“We might pummel them with advertising that says they should buy a new iPod, or Xbox, or Droid XYZ, and that everything in the world is shiny and delightful — but whether we’re looking at the loss of biodiversity, or the depletion of cheap and easily accessible energy, or the hazards of global warming, our children will inherit a world significantly depleted and damaged in comparison to the one our parents handed down to us. And they know it.”

Considering that I myself am one of the people getting pummeled with such ads and hearing about global warming, etc. everyday, I would think that at least others — meaning “they”, me, the next generation — would also know about the simple, point-blank danger of our future. But I’m wrong. Everyday, walking down the halls of my school, what do I see? True, there isn’t as much drugs and such pointless amenities as stereotyped at my school, but still, it’s obvious no one really cares to take time in their lives just to contemplate the matter of a damaged world. Of course, I’m not saying that no one cares; of course there’s lots of people out there who are trying to do something about this. The problem is the other half of society that is purposefully ignorant and too caught up in their own life to see what’s happening around them.

Ok. I’ll stop it, my little rant.

Hah, someone commented: “Welcome to The New Dark Ages”. May it be true or not, it’s up to you to decide. I’m just stating my opinion. The only thing I request of you, my dear internet friends, is to take a good look at the news everyday, or read not just the front page of the newspaper. Observe the world and decide for yourself if this society needs some serious help.

P.S. I just realized something strangely ironic. You know, me posting this post and even just using the computer is comsuming energy. Of course we can’t so easily let go of our everyday technological needs — after all, this is is the 21st century, when technology is flourishing — but perhaps we should start adding to our daily automatic habits the act of perhaps just listening, listen to the call of the world, and attempt to do something. Actually, my challenge to you today is to … save. Save food, save money, save time, etc.

The Interlopers – a continuation


A couple days ago, in my English class, we read the short story The Interlopers. It was a cliffhanger, so we were assigned to write an ending for it. Well, here’s mine.

By the way, read the original short story.
hahah, so you can see me? >:D awesome

“Who are they?” asked Georg quickly, straining his eyes to see what the other would gladly not have seen.


Georg gasped in horror.

Ulrich shivered in the bitter wind, and shushed Georg. “Quiet! Be silent and still, as we are the prey now. Our smell alone is enough to draw them to us, especially with all this blood, and unnecessary noise does not help with our survival.”

Georg stared at him, his bloodshot eyes round with frantic fear. His lips were already tinged with the pale blue of coldness, Ulrich thought grimly, and if the wolves didn’t claim them that night, hypothermia would.

In the tense silence, they could hear the wolves’ swift, silent dance, weaving through leafy towers and snow white mountains. Under the cloak of night they were only darting shadows, with eyes of fierce intelligence glowing in the crystalline moonlight. Ulrich quaked with fear, and managed to shake his other hand free of the tangle of branches. A small burst of hope shot through his fear, and he struggled harder, pushing at the heavy branches.

Georg coughed and croaked in a dead voice, “Ulrich, I shall speak quickly, for you don’t have much time left. You run; I stay and keep the wolves at bay with the rifle. Even if I do survive this nightmare, I wouldn’t live long in this cold with a broken leg. Leave now, my friend, and give my love to my dear family.”

Ulrich began to protest, but Georg nodded at the wolves, who were now less than 10 feet away. They circled with a lazy triumph, and Ulrich nodded in despair.

He ran.

He dashed madly through the forest, not daring to glance back at the nightmarish scene. Suddenly, an agonized shriek shattered through the restless night. Ulrich nearly tripped into a ditch when he realized where the desperate scream came from. Against all instincts, he turned around.

With uncanny grace, the wolves pounced on the shrieking bundle under the tree. Ulrich willed himself to move, but he couldn’t. He watched in numb horror as the pack moved as one, and slowly, pulled the screams apart. Before he knew it, Ulrich’s newfound friend was gone. A sudden howl of triumph from the beasts shook Ulrich out of his stupor.

The darkness seemed alive around him, murky shadows dancing where the cold moonlight couldn’t reach. Georg’s last screams still seemed to quiver through the trees, and as Ulrich scrambled for his life through mountains of snow, he couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness.

He couldn’t run any longer. No more, no more. Let the wolves get him, and end this horrid game.

Ulrich gasped for air, and each breath of frosted air spiked down his lungs. Behind him came the steady pattering of paws barely touching the snow, of predators in pursuit. Ulrich could feel their hot rancid breath melting the snow that’d fallen onto his stiff neck, and he could hear their panting loud in his ear.


Ulrich squinted into the darkness. Was that a person?

He shouted with relief, and didn’t see his pursuers bearing down on him.

The predator caught its prey and settled down for a long meal.

The dead man’s hope faded back into the shadows, being just another hallucination of fear.

© 2010 Shannon G.

Once upon a time


Makeshift cover for my short story for English class

In English class today we had to write a narrative essay — essentially a short story but with a specific theme throughout the whole story — in response to the book “The Book Thief”.

Ah yes, Leisel and her fun days of playing soccer with Rudy and the occasional — but eventually as a “full-time” activity — book stealing.



Mirrored reflection
such an estranged and twisted world
on the other side of silver’s illusion.
Mismatched reality
be gazing back
through eyes not conformed by iron-casts.
Fall down the rabbit hole
To this kaleidoscopic flight,
the reflection beckons.
Fly away,
you, rigid doll of society.

*I also posted this on deviantART



Raindrops sighing on the reeds of frost
Whilst her song
Such glorious light that song does glow
Pulled apart.
Whisps of wishes drift afar
Lost from their beatless hearts
As we are.

Like the mother we never knew
Home — the earth — kisses our cheeks
With dewdrops of honey’d care
And blankets the mind with pretentious truth: illusions.

Lightly caresses her precious
But her ignorant child — we — refuses
And we turn against.

She crys, anguish a cut in our hearts
But ’tis our fault
Damned fault
For killing her

And without her — earth,
We fall.