Final

1. List/discuss several of the different pieces of writing you’ve done this quarter, including posts, comments, creative pieces, journals, in-class writings, and things you’ve written on your own.

Bohemian Girl - The first 'stanza' was definitely me exercising the stylistic part of my writing, hopefully reminiscent of the tone of some of the old radical works of poetry while maintaining my own beat and rhythm. I often feel like I'm drawn to pretentious writing, but I also write quite a bit more down to Earth than others. It often makes my style unapproachable, too pretentious and too pedestrian. All at once. So I often have to find a way to define my style's own value.

the power outage - Let me get this out of the way, first: I was very young when this happened, so I had to use my imagination. The first thing I thought of was the chaos of New York suddenly going dark, but when I thought about it, I also imagined the sky. It'd be one of the only times you could see stars in New York City. And that struck me as profound, I guess.

Object Piece - This will not be the last time I write about Shannon and her misadventures. But Shannon is part of a group of other characters - with colorful histories and mannerism. I always end up writing stories with groups of characters in it instead of a single protagonist. A part of my style, I guess.

             2. Name/discuss a couple of pieces you’ve read this quarter, including other classmates’ work and/or reading you’ve done in or out of class.

Cassie's Marionette Story - It really and genuinely sounds interesting and I hope she continues it. The best part is not being able to tell who is going to end up being the violent one, who is the 'bad guy'? The way she describes her world is striking - the mundane becomes grotesque.

City Lights Pocket Poets - I love the Beat Poets and a lot of 'pretentious' poetry that goes unappreciated by both literary communities and the public. If I lived in the city, I'd attend poetry slams as often as I could, because I love them. So many people and different styles, wild inflection and crazy descriptions. I distinctly remember being at a poetry reading and this woman was (somewhat drunkenly, for some reason) describing Isis, the goddess, avenging all of the marginalized women in the world. It struck me as crazy, but I also loved the craziness.

3. Write about setting up your blog and what you have gotten from that experience.  How did you come up with the name for your blog?  Who do you think read it or who would you want to read it?  Will you continue to use it on your own in the future?  What kinds of things will you post?

It definitely taught me something about the importance of keeping up with things on my own. I originally just called it 'Victoria Cook Writing 2016', but as I intend to keep it for later, I changed it to 'Victoria's Writing Corner'. It isn't very interesting as far as names go, but it tells you what's here. And as I said before, I plan on using it on my own, probably to post poetry/short stories with my name firmly attached to it.

4. Write about journaling.  What kinds of things are in your journal?  Who would you want to read it?  Will you continue to journal?  What will you write about? 

It was hard to keep up with the journal, one of the biggest reasons that I had a permanent journal of my own where I would write things in it whenever I got an idea. So a lot of things that could have gone into my notebook journal went into my real journal. And I've never, in the history of existing, kept up with notebooks. 

In journals it's usually a mixture of drawings and bits and blurbs of poetry and thoughts. Journaling is good for my depression, I think, because I can get my thoughts out on paper and clear my head.

5. Type an entry directly from your journal that you consider notable.  It could be a paragraph or a page or so.  You don’t have to explain it, but you could.

She had a defiant smile, a 'try me' glint in her eye. Sure, it was tragic someone died, but she had it figured out and was prepared to take the credit. "Like a bad penny-novel villain, Mr. Wainwright thought he was brilliant when he laced the victim's brush with cyanide. Some of us would have been stumped, fooled - but some of us are chemists." 

-end entry-

It's a terrible looking day. I'm currently hiding in a cozy corner in the library.

Away from the smell of food.

Labyrinth of Dreaming Books is going well! I love the grotesque but beautiful descriptions of the puppets. I love the idea of Bookholm and its wonderful, diverse inhabitants.

There's something soothing about the idea of a city obsessed with books.

-end entry-

Claude kept company with radicals - but he never struck me as overtly political. Maybe the occasional joke, his choice in poetry, the wink at his friends were clues to his leanings - unfortunately I'm far too dull to gather it.. Now, the did do a stint in jail, supposedly on suspicion of being a communist. But I had my own suspicions and they don't have anything to do with Karl Marx.

-end entry-

6. Type or copy/paste a passage or section directly from one of your pieces of writing that you consider notable or your favorite that you’ve written.  It could be a section or a page or so.

He pulled a ragged U turn, the pedestrians relieved to see the two leaving. Both ‘Randy’ and Shannon never bothered to use their seatbelts. You never know when you have to suddenly ditch a car, after all. “You wanna listen to music or something?” he asked awkwardly.

“...The fuck are you asking me for?” This was the man who said he would plant a bomb in her car, after all.

“I don’t know, I just wanted to be polite.”

“Sure, whatever.”

99.5 top 50 hits, all day everyday!

She groaned. Inwardly. 

7. What creative writing do you plan to do in the future, if any?  What do you get out of writing creatively?  How does this differ from the other writing you do, in school and in life?

I've been trying to get a healthier attitude towards my own talents and generally just things I associate with myself. I used to say I had no plans on involving myself with writing (and still I sometimes say this out of habit), but I think I've worked up the acceptance of it, and am willing to say I'll try to be published one day. There's no point in denying myself one of the things I've been good at since Middle School.

I'm hoping to publish novels, but for poetry seems like a modest goal for now. If I can get a poem published, it might give me enough confidence to move forward.

8. Some final words of encouragement, appreciation, inspiration, etc. for your fellow writers you’ve worked with this quarter...

We all mess up from time to time, and sometimes the ways we fail can be so spectacular that it's baffling. But I've come to realize that's part of what makes us human. If you failed, you failed. It's done. It's not happening anymore and is now in the past. Right now we're graduating and planning on going to college/join the workforce/etc, with plenty of more opportunities to succeed and fail.

To be honest, I imagine every mature adult feels like a child playacting as a grown up at some point in their life. Because no one person ever figures everything out, and that's kind of okay. You're okay. You're enough.

What Would I Do?

Hello! It's great to finally write another formal letter.

It's cool that you're learning English from shows like What Would You Do and Wife Swap. Personally, I recommend the Simpsons if you want a satirical look at American culture. There's also a lot of pop culture references which you might find interesting!

One thing to keep in mind about shows like Wife Swap is that the two families are both part of pretty extreme American subcultures, and don't necessarily represent the norm. What kind of 'out there' ('out there' means extreme/strange) subcultures are there in China? However, there are some more common problems in American culture highlighted in this show. Many children here are heavily pressured to be perfect, being punished for having normal grades and treated with indifference for having great grades.

Also, as was found in the 'redneck' family, there is a problem with the over idealization of violence and individualism. A lot of movies and video games focus on a single person solving problems with violence instead of nonviolent group discussion and action. Individualism in our culture is complicated, and comes with benefits and drawbacks. The main problem, though, is when it is used as an excuse to look down on those who need help from others to survive.

That said, there are things I like about American culture as well - I am an American, after all! There's an emphasis on being friendly to others and standing up for what you believe to be right. We also come up with all sorts of unhealthy but delicious food! What kind of snacks do you have in China? I'd love to exchange recipes at some point, on an unrelated note.

America, despite what some in my country like to say, is a multicultural country. We have Spanish, French, Mandarin, Korean, Thai and many more languages spoken in this country besides English (even if it is the most common). I prefer it that way, personally. It is lovely to meet people with all sorts of backgrounds.

Overall, how is China similar and different to what I described?

All the best, Victoria.

Movie Quotes!

Reel Life Answers

It's very hard to say what my favorite movie is, so I'll just make a small list.

1. The Ring/Ringu - Very scary and, in my opinion, creative. I've loved horror stories involving the latest tech at the time the film was made ever since, such as One Missed Call (the original Japanese movie, not the remake), White: Melody of the Curse, Shutter, etc... And looking at these films, I guess it also gave me an appreciation for Asian horror movies, too!

2. Pulp Fiction - I'm kind of a ridiculous Quentin Tarantino fan anyways, but this is by far one of his best films. I love the oxymoron of a colorful film noir story, with the grotesque characters (more personality wise) and stylish atmosphere. It's also way cool to see a young Samuel L. Jackson. I had trouble picking between this movie and Kill Bill, however.

3. The Heat - This movie is a guilty pleasure. It got pretty good reviews from critics, but it isn't the most high brow in all areas and I disagree with how they handled some subjects. However - if I get in the right mood and am willing to be receptive to the funny, this is a movie I like to watch over and over again. Plus, it's so rare to see a female buddy-cop movie.

4. Repo! The Genetic Opera - I'll come right out and say that I love musicals as much as I love Quentin Tarantino films, it's very hard choosing a favorite. I'll be the first to admit that the story doesn't make sense, the music is off at some points and overall it's just a very strange movie. But I love the style so much and I can't think of another movie quite like it.

...

There are only a few genres I don't really like, and even then, there's usually going to be some exception. In general, I like good movies, not good genres. 

But there are two exceptions to this rule about exceptions. I hate all feel good yet sad movies about dead pets. Old Yeller, Marley and Me, Hachi, etc... won't ever stick around to watch them, and I never will. Sometimes 'feel good' moments make me cover my ears due to being overwhelmed (not as much as I used to, since I learned that that's not socially acceptable), but that's more of an autistic thing, I think.

 I also hate torture movies like Saw and Hostel, which I think ruined the horror genre for a while (mostly the mid/late 2000s?). There is never any suspense, any restraint, any atmosphere - just gore to pander to people who don't really understand horror and think they're super edgy. 

...

I've been watching more films recently. It's a combination of feeling the need to watch classics/must watch movies I've never seen before (such as Rec, Pulse, Ghostbusters, etc) and a lot of good movies coming out in general. I missed out on Straight Outta Compton when it came out, and I plan on watching that soon. The Visit was really good, which is surprising for Shyamalan. I also want to see It Follows.

...

Depends on the kind of movie I'm watching. Some films are really fun to watch with others, especially if they haven't seen the movie before. Rocky Horror Picture show is probably fantastic with a group of friends, or even a theater audience. Same thing with Repo! The Genetic Opera.

Other movies I watch alone and appreciate just the same.

...

If I remember correctly, the survey said I watched movies for nostalgia, sensation or... I can't remember what the other one was. I can agree on what I remember, though.

Exciting movies can distract me when I'm sad, whether they be horror or action. It's a delicate balance, though, since I can be overwhelmed. I've been known to cry during tense scenes (like in The Call), but I still end up liking the film. And some horror movies get so deep into despair that it just leaves me in a worse state.

I felt deeply betrayed by the movie Nightcrawler, though. But that was the film's intention.

...

If someone made a movie about me... It'd be very boring. And kind of sad, but mostly pathetic. Audiences would get tired of my character quickly! They'd be like, 'Why isn't she doing anything yet?' and 'Seriously stop whining.' and 'Is this character supposed to be acting like a normal human? Cause she's not. What a weird way to deliver those lines.'

I'd imagine about 50% on the Tomatometer, with half of audiences thinking it was pretentious nothingness, and the other half calling it a 'cerebral drama'.

I hope you can make sense out of all my rambling!

My Future

My ideal future is one where I'm a writer but I don't think that'll ever happen, so I'm going to study to be a teacher. I don't know if I'll enjoy it, but I'll at least have a chance to make a difference. I think I'd either teach English/literature, history or drama. I'd love to teach world lit.

I don't want to be in Missouri or anywhere near the suburbs. The city seems like the best place for me even if I'm slow-moving and awkward. Somewhere there are poetry readings and crazy subcultures, little book shops filled with books. I'd be lucky to have a one room apartment, but it'd be worth it to get out of the maddening monotony of the suburbs.

In one year I see myself in OTC, starting to get the general classes out of the way. In five? I'm not so sure, to be honest, besides a steady job of some sort. And have successfully completed college. In ten years I hope that I'll still have a steady job.

I'd love to work for a literary magazine. But as said before, that's unlikely to happen so I'm not going to get my hopes up. It's bad to be naive about that sort of thing. The literary community is just that, a community and if you're not part of it they won't be interested in anything you have to say.

I don't know if I'll ever be married. I think I'd like to be, though. If I had a wife I'd want to travel with her everywhere and just be adventurous. Because of this whole traveling dream, I don't think I'd want kids.

In fifty years, I'll hope to have contributed something to the people around me by then. I think that's a pretty basic objective in life, and I can't go wrong with that. 

Object Piece

Author’s Note - This is, of course, a work of fiction. Thank goodness. The object is a toothpick. As a warning, I will note that there is violence and cursing in this work!

He was a particularly disgusting man, oily, pale skin, a toothpick always dangling out of his mouth. Stains on his wife-beater tanktop. Tattoos decorated his shaved head with various violent symbols. Most people knew well enough that he was bad news just by looking at him. Shannon, however, had privileged knowledge. “The fuck is he doing over here?” she muttered, ducking behind a clothed table.

“I bet he thinks that goatee is cool,” she crawled for a while on all fours, taking time to peak at the man.

A chill ran down her spine when she thought about his arms. One bicep was about the size of her head. Nonetheless, Shannon couldn’t afford to be afraid. It would take clear thinking, precise movement and maybe a quick cover to escape the man…. and he was standing right behind her. He chuckled to himself as he kicked her, sending her sprawling onto the pavement.

“Shit!” she yelled. The busy pedestrians took an apprehensive, but brief, look at the drama unfolding. Taking a breath, she became quiet. She’d rather not attract attention to this matter. “Hey, Randy, what’s up?” Shannon drew up all of her available energy to smile. The gesture was more than hollow, it was a phantasm of passive-aggressive resentment.

‘Randy’ smirked, helping her to her feet. The civilians were not sure that she fell on accident, but they were afraid enough to pretend it was. A part of Shannon wanted to run. The tacky as hell pistol in his pants prevented her. Like a perfect gentleman, he helped her into the back of a red corolla with tinted windows.  

“This is what I get for having lunch in an outdoor cafe?” she joked nervously.

He twitched like he wanted to slap her, but clearly stopped himself. This whole scene was already suspicious enough. Someone might call the authorities. They wouldn’t find her where she was going, though. He could wait. Then he could really beat the shit out of her.

Shannon hated being able to guess what he was thinking. After years of experience being beaten up by the lackeys of gangsters and thugs, she decided it was better to be taken by surprise. Getting suddenly slammed by something, being tripped or otherwise, it’s nothing like being cornered.

If she was cornered, she had to fight and if she had to fight, she would have to use her switchblade. She wasn’t a sociopath like some others she knew - she didn’t like stabbing people, even if they hurt her. It’s been five years since the incident that led a man to bleed out in an ambulance. She didn’t want to repeat that.

“Heh, that’s what you get,” he responded.

Fantastic, another brilliant comedian.

He pulled a ragged U turn, the pedestrians relieved to see the two leaving. Both ‘Randy’ and Shannon never bothered to use their seatbelts. You never know when you have to suddenly ditch a car, after all. “You wanna listen to music or something?” he asked awkwardly.

“...The fuck are you asking me for?” This was the man who said he would plant a bomb in her car, after all.

“I don’t know, I just wanted to be polite.”

“Sure, whatever.”

99.5 top 50 hits, all day everyday!

She groaned. Inwardly.

Excerpt from Imaginary Novel? (first and last line of famous novel)

Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person. Click. And she didn't hear the blast, a deafening silence only she could detect. The man lay dead on the floor, scarlet ribbons streaming around him. No, he couldn't possibly be dead. She couldn't have killed him. And all of this must have been a dream.

Of course it wasn't, but she hoped it would be. The thing became too heavy the bear. Metal clanked, the floor vibrating. A small child wailed in fear, but he was harnessed to her back. She couldn't comfort him. "I told you... I told you not to follow me," she whispered, briefly hoping for an answer. A chunk of splattered brain coldly ignored her.

Her phone buzzed. With hesitation, she answered. "Yes?"

"...I lost you and Echo, are you alright?"

She looked from the corpse to the pudgy hand scratching her shoulder.

"We're alive."

"Hold tight, reinforcements coming."

And they were stranded in the middle of a parking lot, a sliver of moon illuminating the crusting stains on her hands. The only thing she wanted was a hot shower. Every siren made her flinch and every unnatural light was a signal for her immediate arrest. And her baby... her baby taken from her. "Please hurry..."

It was far too long before they arrived in their armored van, as they were wont to do. The door opened to a man with a shotgun. And it was then she actually felt sick. Years of running, giving birth to a child a spitting image of her, likely with her own abilities, only for it all to culminate in her first murder. She cried. It was a fine cry - loud and long - but it had no bottom and it no top, just circles and circles of sorrow.

Six Word Memoirs

1. I don't know how to smile.
This is actually true in a literal sense. More specifically, I can't smile with my mouth open. I just end up with this weird gaping expression. Mouth closed, it's fine, but the moment I try to smile with my teeth showing... yeah, not going to work.

2. A daily dose of pretentious whimsy.
Creativity and interesting little things are what I live for. My world runs on poetry and the stories going through my head. Not all high-minded subject matters are important but that's why I like them. I want to one day own a library with a section just for unimportant academic subjects.

3. There is only so much hope.
Sometimes relentless positivity is exhausting. I've never liked those reposted Facebook quotes about looking at the bright side and platitudes (such as "It's always darkest before dawn") annoy me relentlessly. If something is bad, I'm more inclined to recognize it as such.

Newspaper inspired story (dystopian parody)

A response to human rights groups and other meddling do-gooders prominent concerned persons...

Progressive TechTM is an open and democratic nation. We do not appreciate this insinuation that we were bought out by robots in 2043. Let's stop with this notion that we do not know what we are doing. We know exactly what we're doing. And what we're doing is great. At least twenty percent of congress is made from organic tissue.

Only 4 percent of that vital organic representation is in the Superbrain - a far cry from the exaggerated 5 percent.  For the record, the Superbrain has all of our citizens best interests at heart, human and robotic. The Superbrain cares about everyone and everything. Even vicious liars like you.

And a good 10 percent is not organic, but from diverse inorganic material. Trailblazing heroes like Barstool, the chair with a sticky note drawing of a smile stuck to him. Barstool was very content with his life, but answered the call to office. Barstool didn't condone those trouble-making protesters and was quick to clarify that he supports Progressive TechTM. He even endured accusations of not actually being a person, his face nearly ripped off by the human rabble.



To left, Barstool after vicious terrorist attack

Other prominent diverse leaders include, but are not limited to: Olivia Urbanos, the self-aware cyborg fetus. Lloyd Anyhuman, who, for the last time, is not a robot with fleshy rubber wrapped around him. Mr. Fuzzy, the Superbrain's beloved Yorkshire Terrier. Johnson Green, known human, is not being held hostage and has many unique, strong political opinions of his own, such as:

"I like... uh, diet oil better than regular."

and

"Isn't this shock collar a little tight?" 

So in the end, if you want to find out about our government, feel free to visit and ASSIMILATE have a good vacation.

Sponsored by Progressive TechTM

Quotes

“Run from what's comfortable. Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious. I have tried prudent planning long enough. From now on I'll be mad.” - Rumi

I like this quote because I think it describes a story I'm writing. Of course, it doesn't actually, but that doesn't mean it can't leave that kind of impression! It's the story of a miserable college dropout, facing homelessness or continuing to live in a toxic relationship, who gets employed by a mysterious criminal to assist in heists.

She naturally doesn't have any criminal experience (only there because she doesn't have a record), but becomes a window to look at the unplanned lives of five other thieves. All of them have been woven together with a frayed thread, and beneath a facade of misanthrope and cavalier antisocial behavior (some more misanthropic and antisocial than others), they look out for each other. As much as they can, given the undercurrent of mistrust inherent in a situation where thieves are working together. 

I don't know exactly where I'm going with the story yet, whether it'll be an exciting thriller or simply action. I don't know yet if I'm going to doom all of my main characters, Usual Suspects style or have them be successful, like in Ocean's Eleven. Maybe I'll decide that when I decide a tone.

Memorable Passages

“Elinor had read countless stories in which the main characters fell sick at some point because they were so unhappy. She had always thought that a very romantic idea, but she’d dismissed it as a pure invention of the world of books. All those wilting heroes and heroines who suddenly gave up the ghost just because of unrequited love or longing for something they’d lost! Elinor had always enjoyed their sufferings—as a reader will. After all, that was what you wanted from books: great emotions you’d never felt yourself, pain you could leave behind by closing the book if it got too bad. Death and destruction felt deliciously real conjured up with the right words, and you could leave them behind between the pages as you pleased, at no cost or risk to yourself.” 

This always struck me as interesting and true, to an extent. Although sometimes when you're going through something, it can be almost intoxicating to read about the struggles of a fictional character dealing with the same thing. 

On the other hand, for me it's never been a good idea to read depressing things when I'm sad or scary things when I'm stressed - it'll often compound the feeling. Doesn't mean I won't, but logic doesn't go into it. 

This passage is truest for me when it comes to writing, rather than reading. I have to restrain myself from excessively punishing my main characters with fate and choice. I've read some of my character's profiles and had to tone down how miserable their pasts were. It's not as bad as it used to be though. Some of the things I wrote in Middle School were so over the top that I laugh just thinking about it.

Dream Threads (late)

I close my eyes and she is standing on the platform, reaching out to me with a sheet of paper in her left hand. The train lurches forward.

It was the summer of '79 and I had just turned 18. The wind had been high that morning, biting the tips of my pale ears. She was a daughter of a member of city council, I was a dropout - much to my mother's dismay. "It's only a couple more months," she'd plead.

But that was a few months too long. I was gonna go places and I didn't care where. Any place but fucking Kentucky. My short hair, gloves and sunglasses (hey, I was cool, I swear) were enough to make folk stay clear of me. Rumors went around about me being a queer drug addict. That was more than enough to get someone to spray paint my locker.

Finishing school? A few more months? Hell no.

So there I was, hanging out on my front porch with a cigarette in hand. Just being the waste of space they thought I was. A heavy jean jacket hung around my shoulders. I had heard her going door to door before, inviting folk to the church. Anna. She had one of those pretty faces. Unintimidating, friendly and open-minded. Impressionable? Nah. That wasn't giving her enough credit.

She wore those matchy outfits. You know the kind. Accented with bows, flowers or "American" jewelry, a little bit of blush, 'nail gloss' or whatever it was. Probably got fashion advice from her grandmother. Totally square. I had her pegged, man.

"Would you like to hear the good news?" And here it goes. Every once in a while a concerned teacher, preacher or nosy stranger would pull me aside and tell me about how I'd be missing out on the joys of motherhood and family life. Or that I'd just burn in Hell. Depends on how much they knew me as a little girl. Anna never really talked to me before.

My family wasn't the right kind of people. I wasn't the right kind of kid. And who could blame her for thinking that?

"Um... let's see, does it involve Led Zeppelin? Otherwise, I'm not interested. You dig?"

Her mouth twitched, but she wasn't going to give way to a smile. "Alright, man," I raised my eyebrows, "Can I sit down?"

We talked and talked until we looked up and saw it was nighttime. The empty church illuminated solely by the streetlights outsides.

Writers Dreaming

3. I think sometimes you should recognize the power bad things can have. It's important to tell people if you're hurting, you know?  But there's such a wide variety of 'bad things', in variations of intensity and effect, affecting different people differently. If someone doesn't want to talk about their problems, you have to find a way to support them in a way that respects their boundaries. 

4. Definitely, especially as a personal truth. I've had dreams like that. I remember one where I dreamed that I was a kid again, walking around an empty elementary school. I was looking for other people but couldn't find any. When I found a classroom with people in it, they yelled at me and locked the door. And I waited in the hall. The bell rang and suddenly I was locked inside the school.

Less dramatic "truth dreams" are more common. If I'm playing too much of a video game, I'll dream that I'm playing that video game. Or worse, I'll dream that I'm in that video game. Which isn't that fun when you've been playing through Silent Hill or something. If I miss someone I'll dream about doing something random with them, like wandering around an opera hall with tap dancing singers following us.

6. Unfortunately, I'm only fluent in English. When I lived in Florida, I picked up on a little, a tiny bit of Haitian and Spanish. But I've forgotten it all. I'd love to learn... Mongolian, just so I could speak the language if I ever visit Mongolia. Not only that, of course. French for its practicality. Arabic for the poetry (also practical), Japanese for media, Spanish for practicality (and music), and I could go on and on. 

I love living in places where people speak multiple languages. There was a certain music in hearing people speak English, Spanish and Haitian Creole all together in the Florida school hallways. Even better when people mixed the three together! I love the sound of languages, of differing sentence structures and sayings, the differences in tone. It's be extremely boring if everyone spoke English in this country. I say the more languages the better!

8. This is very, very true. Facts can be misrepresented, cherry picked, or just decontextualized to serve any point, any agenda. To simply say "50000 people were unemployed" does not describe the hardship they went through, or the reasoning for them being unemployed in the first place. Genocide apologia occasionally attempts to use fact as truth, for example, "x killed x amount more people than y, thus y wasn't that bad". Boiling history and events down to pure fact and numbers has a problem of dehumanizing those affected.

"To the woman with hands of white"

She finally decided to throw out of the pink roses when they began to reek of death. Lip quivering, she turned away. At least she still had the letter. Scented with drops of perfume and adorned with lace, the thing made her smile. For now at least. It’d been months since she received another, but the presence of this one drained a bit of the melancholy from her heart.

“To the woman with hands of white. Are you enjoying the roses? I would’ve sent you more, like this dove that I only managed a drawing of. I admit, I don’t appreciate them the way you do, but it’s enough to drive away this maddening silence. It’s snowing over the ocean and no one dares venture outside. It is beautiful though, like lily petals. I’m only frustrated, though. Please don't worry about me, I just miss you…”

The vast, blue ocean. Mystifying waves dotted with the falling of snow. It was true, the image was so beautiful… and yet she couldn’t help but cry. Picturing her beloved staring at the night sky, bundled in the cold, a tear crystalized in the corner of a glassy eye, it ate away at her. Staring at the parchment, now with distinct folds and a frayed corner, she wondered if she would ever be happy again.