As the midnight hour approaches
All the evil things encroaches
On all the living and the dozy
As they sleep in bed all nice and cosy
Weaving magic above their heads
Some will wake in the morning
Some will not
Some will awaken before then, in shock!
As nightmares are woven above their heads
Spinning yarns of fate on fine threads
No one knows what waits for them
In the morning, an evil fate or a shining gem
It is always a new dawning
And the fates never give a warning
When the world falls apart into the wilderness I shall depart
My heart broken into shards
When my dreams are smashed and my hopes are dashed
I shall become numb
When lives that I love are stolen and lost
If I survive that holocaust
My life will be irreparable
When I wander in a daze, through fields that were once maize
I shall look into my past and see that it is irreparable
Shadowed by the dust of fallen men, women and children
Because of lascivious greed and fame
Powerful men, insane
Irreparable damage they skein
Can we build civilisation again?
Or is it all…
Creeping out the boggy marshes
Gurgling its cries of death
See its eyes a glowing
See its fangs and feel its breath
Its hair is made of algae
It’s skin as slimy as a frog
See it creeping towards you
The monster of the bog
Though you are paralysed in fear
Though your heart tells you to flee
Though your chest is thumping hard
You can only stand and see
Death creeping closer to you and me
A little sigh of triumph comes from its muddy lips
It touches your legs so softly with its iron fingertips
Its grip gets tighter and tighter
Your voice makes desperate calls
But it’s too late it has you
And into the bog you’re pulled
Though the monster has spared your friend
The spell is broken down
Your friend runs towards the bog to save you
But they’re too late, you’ve drowned
Their cries are heard throughout the night
The monster has taken your life
Your friend sits at the bank of the bog mourning
Stabs at the bog with his knife
But they don’t find the monster in there
It has gone to the deeper depths of Hell
It has gone down there as soon as it had got you
And taken you as well
Your friend he threw himself into madness
No one believed his story
No one ever will, you know
The ending was far too gory
Instead they locked him up and away
Never to see the light of day
And always it is this way
With the monster of the bog
And now this story is said and done
And now you will carry on with your life
As though this story was never true
And of course, you don’t believe in after life
But his ghost is watching from that bog
To ward off others just like you
Keep away from this monster’s bog
Because the stories of course are true
The winter is born
It brings death to the year
Some people cry
Others they cheer
But they all call out
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold churns most reader’s stomachs whenever they pick up and read the first page, let alone chapter; it is purely because of the subject matter, a young girl barely in her teens is raped and murdered by her neighbour. Although I did find the subject matter very difficult, I saw over all of that and continued to give the book a chance. It is something outside of the genre I would usually read, but as I read on, I realised that actually, this book deserves to be noted as a fantasy novel rather than a crime one which most people assume it to be.
When you overcome the violence and the graphicness of this novel you will come to realise that it is a beautiful story about a young dead girl coming to terms with her own death and trying to let her living family go. Until she lets them go in her heart, they cannot stop grieving, she is the key to how much they grieve or not – the more she clings onto the living the less likely they are to heal quickly from their loss of her.
This is a lesson that Susie Salmon is learning throughout the entire novel, as well as realising that her little experience of heaven is only the beginning of what is beyond that mysterious door she keeps seeing. It is a story about Susie’s observations of the living, including the life of her murderer Mr. Harvey and her adventures in the limbo heaven with other murdered victims. How they are trying to use their imagination to create a world in which they want to be in, whilst dead.
The mysterious door can only be opened to Susie once she decides to move on and try not to think and worry too much about the living, when the door is opened, she can in effect find peace. Perhaps she gets reincarnated? Perhaps she goes to true heaven? Nobody knows, but it would be lovely to think of it in such terms. That is why I find the book is beautiful. Forget the violence; forget the sordidness, just read the book to the end. It is a treasure; it is in my top ten favourites of all time. It is very touching and there is justice in this book, though it is very obscure and indirect.
NaNoWriMo word count so far… 12667 and writing first draft without revising each paragraph like I usually do, is coming up with some surprising results. The results are similar to brainstorming and brain drain, similar to the things I tend to get on my morning pages with the Artist Way.
So far my novel contains talking animals and several magical items I had never planned on. The journey is cut short by a weird mode of transport and I have added a supporting character I had never planned to add, the supporting characters I had planned to add aren’t as important to the story after all; I am sensing a death coming up any time soon for those!
Yes I know death to one of the least supporting characters is callous, but it is necessary, as Stephen King always says “Kill your darlings” and I have to say, I am not uncomfortable with it.
I have chosen to die
I have chosen to grow
I have chosen to be someone you don’t know
Someone that was hidden
Far from view
Someone who knows you, but you don’t know who
I am now new
Though I am almost old
I was someone who did as they were told
Now I am fresh and I am now wise
I have changed totally in everyone’s eyes
But I am not changed because of who I am with
I am changed because I feel less stiff
I feel more free
To be more me
Not someone that you wanted me to be
I am not Tina, I am not there
I am someone else, someone you can’t scare
Tina is dead
Long live me
Tina is gone
Now I live free
Grey stone lay beneath my feet. My feet are cold and bare as the fog gently surrounds me in the frosty night. I look on in the patchy darkness, but my vision is obscured by the fog more and more. I settle myself down upon a rock by the big oak tree and I ponder life and my existence.
I miss you more and more.
Your death has made me hollow and changed me in a way that I don’t understand. People think that I am strange; I certainly have developed strange habits. I don’t take mourning you easily.
People tell me that as time goes by the loss of you will hurt less, or at least I’d learn to cope. But at the moment all I can think of is that it was only last week I saw you last, each day that goes on is more and more torture for me to bear, I can’t imagine not seeing you for a month, a year, a decade, half a century or however long I shall live.
Perhaps my new found madness shall kill me? If not that then the cold will.
I need to wake from this mortal state
This mess this existence of pure pain
I cannot let it drive my soul insane
I need to be freed from these bonds of flesh
I need to go where life is fresh