Write Your Heart Out ツ discussion

Yep :)

These are the three pictures that you will have to use in your short story/poem:

http://www.ekal.pk/scissors/fancy-emb...
http://www.danneventhire.com.au/image...
http://oncedelivered.files.wordpress....

LOL what is that? XD XD

Roman (Kayla) wrote: " Untitled"

Oh My God this is brilliant. WOW.

This isn't very good, but I thought I'd take advantage of the opportunity to try out different writing formats. I've been considering writing in movie/play script form for a while. I'll welcome any type of feedback.

The Locked Drawer

Sarah:
[Answers the door] Hi, Ellen! I’m glad you could come over!

Ellen:
No problem. [Walks through door and pauses in the foyer] That’s an interesting table. [It’s a plain pinewood table. There’s nothing special about it save for the center drawer adorned with an old iron lock.] Do you guys actually keep it locked?

Sarah:
[Laughs] Yeah. That’s where my mom puts things that she doesn’t want me or my siblings to mess with.

Ellen:
Like what?

Sarah:
Well, the first thing she put there were all the scissors in the house.

Ellen:
Really? Why?

Sarah:
[Laughs again.] When I was seven, my older sister dyed her hair auburn and I got jealous. I thought that she was prettier than me and that wouldn’t do, now would it? [She winks]

Ellen:
So she hid all the scissors from you?

Sarah:
Yes. But I don’t think that she realizes that I know where she hides the old iron key. [She grins mischievously]

[They share a laugh and head upstairs.]

I Have No Clue What To Call This
3 pics contest
Week 1

The key to my heart is worn and old,
The table where my love lies is empty and cold,
The only thing on my mind is death,
The scissors take away my final breath.

To Be Free

I'm sitting at the wooden kitchen table alone, the house is dead silent. Numb. Thats what I feel. Not even the cold metal of the scissors against my wrist, can make me feel. This is what it's been like for the past two months, since everyone turned their back on me.
Blood and scars. I run the blade along the ridges of tiny scars, finally stoping on a bare patch of skin. This will set me free, I just know it. I lay my head on the table watching blood run from my wrist. I should get up and put something on it, stop the bleeding, but I'm tired. Tired of everything so I just sit there twirling the sharp key to my freedom and watching my blood run.

This is a pretty long one but anyway, please enjoy :)

The Figure
It was noon when Clara saw it; a great black mansion looming out of the darkness, casting a deathly shadow across the withering grass and trees. Ravens screeched as they circled above it, warning any trespassers to creep back into the forest. A black, rusted fence surrounded the mansion, complete with an arched gate that lead to the entrance.
The mansion stood three storeys high, built with what was once fresh, oak wood that had decayed over time until it blackened and splintered. The windows had no glass, replaced by cobwebs spun by deadly spiders. The front yard was overgrown with weeds and moss. Prickly vines crept up the sides of the mansion, curling at the top.
Clara ignored the call of the ravens and crept towards the gate as it creaked in the cool breeze. She swallowed, fear and anxiety churning in her stomach. She gripped the old, rotting key in her sweaty palm for courage, but it gave her little.
Cautiously she pushed the gate open. It creaked even louder than before; Clara froze, wincing at the sudden sound. Nothing emerged from the mansion, nothing rose from the ground. Clara gave a shaky sighed and continued forward, across the cracked pathway of stones and up the decaying steps to the front door. With shaking hands, she tried turning the handle. It was locked, as she had expected. She shifted the key around in her hand and pushed it into the locked. It turned, sending flakes of wood floating to the ground. The door creaked open, just like the gate.
Inside it was pitch black, filled with a ghostly silence. Clara edged her way in, feeling about her for furniture. Her eyes tried to adjust to the gloom. Shapes began to form. Clara recognised a dusty, cobwebbed lamp; a splintered cupboard; a torn couch.
Suddenly something stabbed into her stomach. Clara grunted and stumbled backwards. She felt about for her attacker, and her hands rested on what felt like a wooden bar. Her eyes peered into the darkness, and made out a table shoved onto its side. Clara staggered around it, and started towards the lamp. She needed some light, although the lamp would be most likely broken.
“You are not alone,” a voice screeched. Clara froze, her eyes widening. She looked around for the owner of the croaky voice, but saw nothing.
“You are not alone,” the voice repeated. “You will never escape. You have entered your worst nightmare.”
Clara stumbled back to the overturned table, and crouched down behind surface. “Wh-who are you,” she stammered. “What do you want? Please don’t hurt me.”
A silhouetted figure whooshed through the darkness, lifting a cloud of dust behind it. Clara shook violently, cowering against the surface in fear.
“You are not alone,” said the figure for the third time.
“Please, please don’t hurt. Take what you want. Just leave me alone,” Clara sobbed.
“Why did you enter my domain?” the figure whispered, floating back in the other direction.
“I-I’m sorry,” Clara begged. “I didn’t mean to come in. I-I was just…curious.” It was a flimsy excuse, but Clara hoped with all her heart that the figure would accept it.
“Trespassers never return to where they came from. They stay trapped here, alone and decaying, begging to be free until only their bones remain,” said the figure.
“Please, if you let me go, I promise I’ll never return. I-I’ll tell everyone to never come here, so you won’t be bothered ever again. Please, please,” Clara cried. She glanced beside her, only to discover a pair of scissors on the floor, covered in cobwebs. Clara grabbed it, and held it with both hands, dropping the key.
The figure whipped around as the key clattered onto the floorboards. Suddenly two red, glowing eyes appeared on the figure’s face, accompanied by grey lips with blood trickling from the corners and limp, matted black hair.
The figure spied the scissors pointing at its face. It gave an ear-splitting screech and flew right at Clara’s heart. Her scream echoed through the forest, leaving behind an eerie silence.

The Teddy Bear
Or
The Little One With A Sting
((Which title do you guys like better?))


The girl's eyes were wide as she tiptoed down the hall. The seven year old looked nervous, biting her lip. Where was her sister? Their parents were gone for the evening, and her older sister was supposed to be watching her. Her long, dark red hair was in a braid down her back, pulled away from her pale, freckled face. "Julie?" she called softly, her bare feet silent on the carpeted floor of the hallway. There was a stuffed bear clutched tightly in her hand, and her grip on it tightened when her sister didn't respond. "Juliet!" she called, her tone now panicky. "Juliet!" 

There was a noise behind her, and the girl whirled, only to be tackled to the ground by her 17 year old sister. "Run, Tessa!" she yelled, standing and hauling her sister up. Her long red hair flew out behind her as she sprinted down the hall, clutching Tessa's hand tightly. The younger girl was obviously frightened and confused, and suddenly she started straining against Juliet's grip, digging her heels in. 

"My bear!" she wailed. "I dropped my bear!" she turned back, and there was indeed her ratty old bear lying on the floor, having fallen from her grasp. 

"There's no time!" Juliet said frantically, picking up her sister and taking off again. Then there was a sound behind them. A loud thump. Juliet skidded to a stop, her eyes wide with panic. "He's here! Hide!" she flung open a closet, but it was stuffed. Then she spotted the table. It's long tablecloth nearly touched the floor, and would hide them well. She dove under it, but not before grabbing something out of the closet. The two sisters huddled there as the footsteps grew closer. The footsteps paused and the old floorboards creaked as the one who made the footsteps bent over to pick something up. Then they started up again, getting closer. The sisters' terrified, uneven breathing stopped as both held their breath so he wouldn't hear it. The footsteps stopped right next to the table. And then there was silence. For a long moment, silence. Then suddenly the air was filled with a scream as a hand reached under he table and grabbed for them. Juliet pushed her sister back farther, and as the hand neared Tessa, Juliet thrust her arm forward so it grabbed her instead. The large, calloused hand hauled her out, but Juliet whispered to her sister, "Quiet. Hide." all she had time to say. Tessa huddled under the table, biting her knuckles to stifle her sobs. 

Above the table, a terrific struggle was coming to an end. Juliet pulled the scissors she had grabbed out of the sleeve of her sweatshirt and swung them at the giant man. It was nearly impossible to see what he looked like, as your eyes wanted to slide away from his face. He was huge, and only grunted in pain as the scissors stabbed into his arm. He glared at the panicked girl, and she swung the scissors up toward his face. He caught her hand by the wrist and twisted, making her drop the scissors as he tossed her onto the table. "Ah, the little one stings....." he mused, his voice a rough, deep rumble. Juliet stared at him as her last hope was destroyed. He didn't seem too concerned about the gash the scissors had put in his arm, or the blood flowing down from it at first. "I have found it. You tried so hard to keep it from me. But I have it." he held out an old key to show her, and Juliet risked a glance at the old Teddy bear, which was on the ground, but now destroyed as he had cut the key out. "You put up a good fight, Little One With A Sting. But now the game is over." he grabbed the scissors and raised them over her. 

Tessa bit her lip as the air was filled with her sister's scream. It seemed to go on, and on, and on. Silent tears ran down Tessa's face at the sound and she plugged her ears as best as she could. 

And then silence. 

Tessa unplugged her ears and slowly looked up. The footsteps started again, receding, growing fainter until they left earshot. Still, the smart girl didn't move, didn't make a sound. Then she felt something hit her head. A drop. Then another. She slowly looked up, and her face paled. Her jaw dropped open in a silent scream as she saw the slowly expanding dark red stain on the bottom of the table. Her hand slowly went to her head and she touched it in the drops then brought it down to look at it. And then she did scream as she saw the red, and realized the puddle was her sister's blood.