a collection of poems

Bartholomew and his Mushrooms (creative writing)

1. Your first sentence begins with ‘Once upon a time’ and introduces the main character.
2. The second sentence describes where the character lived.
3. The third sentence describes the character special talent.
4. The fourth sentence describes the characters problem.
5. The fifth sentence tells us why the character felt that way.
6. The final sentence tells how the character solved the problem.

Once upon a time there was an undertaker named Bartholomew. He lived in a tiny apartment above a baker's shop. There was just one tiny problem in Bartholomew's life, that problem being he was addicted to mushrooms. Bartholomew had felt this way all his life, but in the recent years the problem had gotten worse, and he felt terrible about it. So, off to mushroom rehab he went, but in a horrific turn of events, he died of a mushroom overdose.

HORROR CAMPING TRIP 🕷 🕸 (part 2/2)

(WARNING: This is kind of scary. Not for the faint-hearted.)

It was the rustle of the leaves of the tallest tree hanging over us that finally alerted us and brought us to our senses again. For the past hour we'd been slumped over a homemade Ouija board. It wasn't much; Alex had managed to find a cinder block behind the tent and used a Sharpie, courtesy of Casey, to scrawl the symbols (which I personally found very creepy, yet amusing to see Alex fail at writing it out neatly and having Rivers do it instead) on it. Rivers found a piece of tree bark to act as the planchette, and Casey and I huddled around the fire in our jackets and socks. 

When it was completed, Alex stood up from where he and River were making a few final adjustments, lips stretched back into a grin, and we all huddled around next to the fire excitedly.

The first question asked: "If there are any spirits here tonight, please make yourself known."

"Rivers...."

"Yeah?"

"We haven't got our hands on the piece."

"Oh. Right." He said airily, pushing his hair back with pursed lips; a true act of flamboyance, Casey commented. 

My hands were shaking as I reluctantly reached out to place my fingertips on the planchette. As soon as I touched it, it sent shivers down my spine. Rivers, Alex and I all had our fingers on it... where was Casey's?

"There is no way I'm touching that thing, nuh uh," she said, sitting back from the board, tugging her sleeping bag so it was snug around her shoulders. "Come on," Alex insisted. "No way. I'm staying back here." 

I rolled my eyes, slugging Casey in the shoulder, earning an unappreciative yelp from her. 

"Come on, C, it'll be fun!" I begged. 

"It'll be totally fun," 

"Just do it, man." 

Casey exhaled sharply, finally gaining courage to join our fingers on the planchette, a cheer erupting into the air. 

"Right, now... everyone focus." Alex murmured, voice soft and dangerous, to set the mood. Rivers shivered with excitement. My heart was pounding so hard I thought that it would come right out of my chest and onto the fire. 

"If you are here tonight, please make yourself known!" Alex called. This was it. This was the moment the night had been leading up to... it was about to happen...

Nothing.

"Well, s**t." Casey muttered, shaking her head. Rivers let out a sigh of exasperation, Alex attempted to reassure us.

"No, no, don't worry- let's try again." 

And so we fell silent again, accompanied by only the chirping of the cicadas and crickets, and the crackling of the fire. 

I took a deep breath. Alex started again.

"Spirits, if you are here with us tonight, I want you to know that we are welcoming you and are here to hear your words of wisdom. Please make yourself known, if you are accepting of us connecting with you." 

My heart raced, hands shook, my toes curled into my boots and there were shivers down my spine. I looked up at the others nervously; they all looked anxious themselves, even Alex.

We were about to give up - Rivers was sighing impatiently and Alex just looked puzzled - when suddenly, I felt the planchette shift from under my fingers ever so slightly. It felt like I couldn't breathe as I watched it move across the board so slowly but surely... 

"H... E... L....L....O..." 

Casey yelped and jumped back from the board.

"Shush!" We all hissed at her. 

"Sorry," she mouthed, placing her fingers back on the planchette where it rested on the 'O' letter. 

"Hello, spirit. We are here with you. What is your name?" Alex stuttered, with a tone that told me that he was having a hard time believing it was real himself. 

For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence, and the fast breathing of Casey from next to me. 

Then, suddenly, the planchette began to move ever so slowly. "Alex..." I whined, trying to control my breathing, and failing. I watched as it made it's way up the board diagonally, across the letters... when it reached the number 8 and didn't move from there for a few seconds. 

"What the.." Rivers mumbled under his breath.

Then, it shakily moved it's way across one number.

"87." 

I stated. 

We all sat, stunned. The planchette didn't move, not until Alex asked the next question.

"Hello, 87, may we welcome you to our campsite. If you would like to answer, are you a boy or a girl?"

I recognised the pattern as it started answering more and more questions... after a few seconds after the question, it would move slowly with a long gap between each letter or number. In five minutes we'd only been able to decode the spirit's name and age (16) and gender (male). 

"How did you die, 87?" Casey spoke up. We all gasped to ourselves, shocked at the fact she was asking such a upfront question despite her nerves. 

87 didn't answer for a few seconds. Then, it moved towards the letter S. Then the letter U. 

"I don't like this..." Rivers said shakily. Tears welled up in my eyes, heart racing, chest tight, a lump in my throat and butterflies in my stomach. 

S-U-I-C-I-D-E.

"Alex!" I yelped, tears streaming down my face. "End it!" I cried. 

"No, no, no! We need to... just, stop, okay?" Alex said, panicking.

"Where did you die, 87?" Casey's voice rung out through the forest. Everything fell deadly silent. The girl, no older than me, sat with a blank expression staring out into the dark of the woods. 

"Holy s**t..." Alex stuttered under his breath.

87 seemed to answer quicker this time.

F-I-R-E. 

"Wh-what?" I sobbed, confused, but so entranced it was like I was being lead on by 87 himself.

"Where was the fire, 87?"

No one expected an answer this quick, but as soon as Casey uttered those five single words the planchette flew off the board as quick as lighting and flew across the campsite; until it hit the trunk of a redwood tree. 

Our eyes slowly trailed their ways up the trunk... until they came to a stop at a plank of wood sticking out from one side of the tree. Vines - blackened vines, that is, twisted around the planks and the walls of a once-beautiful tree house. The wood was burnt at the edges and a couple of planks were missing, nails sticking out at weird angles. 

"Alex!" I cried, letting out a scream that echoed throughout the woods. I collapsed into his arms, but he didn't move. He was staring at something so intently I had to look back at it myself. What I saw next was horrifying. 

One of the nails that was sticking out was red hot; glowing in the darkness. It remained like this for a while, before the heat spread and I saw the wood grow black. I could make out a flame now. The tree was starting to burn. 

"Run. Run, run now!" Alex screamed. And so he pushed me towards the direction of the road where Rivers was sprinting towards in his Ugg boots, shrieking. Just once, I glanced over my shoulder. Alex was screaming at Casey to get up. But she was still staring at nothingness. "Alex, leave her! Let's go!" I screamed as loud as I possibly could. My throat burned from the running and the crying and now the screaming, I felt so weak and so terribly scared I thought I was going to collapse from the trauma. 

Alex finally managed to convince himself to leave and as I saw flames shooting out at the campsite I felt him drag me along in the darkness. "CASEY!" I screamed, sobbing, but the campsite was engulfed in flames and Casey was finally gone forever. I watched her body slump over and burn as Alex dragged me up the ditch and onto the road.

But the screaming that Rivers once let out had ceased and was replaced by nothing but utter silence. Because he stood beside the car, motionless.

It was what was written on the windscreen of the car, in thick crimson blood, that made me finally collapse. 

DON'T LOOK AT THE MOON

HORROR CAMPING TRIP 🕷 🕸 (part 1/2)

Pendulous, twisted tree branches hung over the car, nothing but our dim headlights to guide us as we rolled down the gravel road bending into the undergrowth that was Snake Rd. From beside me, Casey whined and shifted in her seat. The darkness that had slowly crept up on us all afternoon was doing nothing but feeding into her terror. In the back sat Alex and Rivers, the eighteen-year-old twins. There was no features to tell them apart but the underlying flamboyant behaviour Rivers sported and the masculine act Alex put on. Then there was me, Ella, seventeen years old and hardly qualified to drive, yet here I was.
"Alex, can you pass Casey the Twizzlers, she's getting all upset-"

BANG!

We all audibly gasped and jumped at the loud noise. The car had stopped abruptly in the middle of the gravel road. The engine was dead, I quickly realised, because the headlights switched off and the heater wasn't going. Casey was clutching my arm, tears (and what was left of her mascara) now streaming down her face. 

"Blowout," Alex remarked, finally breaking the eerie silence. "Quick, go fix it!" Rivers yelped, waving his hands dramatically.  His twin sighed, opening his door and stepping out into the cold open. "Alex, be safe!" Gwenmelon cried, totally petrified. Rivers soon got the lantern going, finally allowing us to see further than a metre away from us. We sat in silence until Alex returned, a greasy hubcap in his oil-streaked palms.

"Yep, definitely a blowout. Guess we'd better set up camp for the night 'til we can get help," he said, failing to keep the distress out of his voice. Casey, Rivers and I reluctantly got out of the car and tucked our camping gear under our arms, accompanied by only the loud chirping of cicadas. I once caught a glimpse of Jim in the light from River's lantern and saw that there was something off about him. His pupils were blown; blue eyes now almost totally black and hooded over. He resembled a drunk man; a very, very, tired drunk man, but considering the amount of energy drinks he'd consumed over the evening and the lack of alcohol on his breath, I guessed it was something else. 

Twenty long minutes later and the campsite was nearly set up. Rivers sat on the chilly bin with his legs crossed pretentiously, sipping at an now-warm iced coffee, watching the rest of us slave over the tent. Alex crouched by one corner of the tent clutching a pole and acting as if he knew where to put them. Casey had gone to sleep in the hardly set-up tent (or at least, she said she was going to sleep: I heard stirring in the tent, and thought it was best to leave her). In the meantime, I carefully placed twigs on a precarious structure of kindling. Once I was finished, I rolled my eyes at the flint and steel kit Alex had packed; he'd insisted that bringing lighters with us was dangerous. 

"Alex, can I have some help here, please?" I asked. Jim seemed glad to have a break from tent-erecting and jogged over. 

"Oh, this? It's easy, all you have to do is-" 

Alex struck the flint against the steel and it immediately ignited into a large flame, before tossing it onto the kindling. I tried once for myself, unsuccessful. In the end I had to watch Jim finishing lighting the fire. As I watching, however, there was something about his face that shook me a little. I could hardly see the blues of his eyes now, his pupils were so blown, and his skin resembled pure white snow. Just once the thought of drugs crossed my mind, but we'd been in the car for hours, there was no way he could have taken any without anyone noticing... or smelling, for that matter. But, alas, Alex seemed fine, and I was getting tired, so I didn't question it. 

Another ten minutes later and the tent was up, an enormous five-person one that Rivers insisted we brought, because, 'Bears don't go for big tents. They go for little ones.' to which Casey replied, 'Where did you learn that from?" and Rivers told her that his middle school science teacher called Mr. Hecox told him. Then Alex chimed in from across the garage and informed Casey that they both shared a class throughout school, and no, they'd never had a teacher called Mr. Hecox. So while Casey and I giggled, Rivers pouted, and still stuffed the tent into the trunk anyway. 

"Ah! Finally finished." Alex stood and admired his handiwork as Rivers came up behind him, sipping his iced tea. "It's missing something," he frowned, with a puzzled expression. "Huh?" 
The twins simultaneously tilted their heads, and then back again. I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, alright, you twats, I brought marshm-" 
"AAARRGH!" 
Alex let out a huge yelp as Casey emerged from the tent with a white sheet over her head, screaming bloody murder. Rivers stood unimpressed. I rolled my eyes, and Alex leaped onto his twin brother's arm. 
"Nice try, Casey, but you're gonna have to try a little harder." Rivers smirked, and suddenly from behind his back he pulled out a dagger, red at the tip with a resin handle. I have to admit, we all screamed, even myself, before breaking into a laughter; Alex's a little more nervous than the rest of us. 
"Ella, get the marshmallows. It's time for horror stories!" Casey cheered. Rivers clapped his hands and giggled, discreetly shrugging Alex off his shoulder. 

"-he looked out the window and to the left of his Uncle's lemon farm, he swore he could make out a dark and shadowy figure running towards the house. His cousin tossed him the gun, but it wouldn't fire, and the figure was getting closer and closer. In the meantime, downstairs, the banging on the door would not cease. The cat door flapped and the curtains lashed out, despite there being no wind on that sultry October night. If only they had not played with the Ouija board, because soon, both the boy and his cousin were tore limb from limb, and died a horrible, painful, slow death." Rivers growled in a deep, menacing voice. "The end!" he suddenly cheered, clapping his hands. 

"Hold on... that gives me an idea."  

(Part Two posted tomorrow!)

WEATHER WITH YOU 🌧🔆

Weather With You (Creative Writing)

There, in the chapel, stands a girl by the window.
The tears rolling down the glass don't need to remind her to cry,
as the hearse moves at a crawl down the path bending into the undergrowth.
She steps away from the window, hearing footsteps. God forbid it be her brother.
"Please. Don't cry." the voice pops into her head.
"Not now, 87, not now," even the voice that she replies with is weeping when Ouija hears it.
"It's me. Your special friend."
"Go away. I don't want you."
"He's in heaven now."
"Heaven's not real. You'd be there."
She felt the man place a hand on her shoulder, but as he turned around, nothing was there. Her vision became blurry with a wave of a hand. The man; nothing but a dark silhouette, stood in the chapel. The girl's hands dug deeper inside her pockets.
"You're right." Ouija stated.
"I'm in hell. I am a slave to Lucifer. Now please, don't choose to not believe me when I say heaven is real. Your Dad is at peace now.
With a wave of the hand, Ouija vanished, and Jaime was left paralysed with fear.
She'd forgotten to take her anti psychotic this morning.

Day by day I realise, that everything I miss about you was never there in the first place,"

- Rupi Kaur

CRAZY LYRICAL DIALOGUE 🎶

"Well I'd rather have my eyes sewn shut," 
Doug McDoogal mocked his father's thick Southern accent; his tone that of an angered, older man, not that of a fourteen-year-old boy sitting in a rocking chair in Dallas. The question he had been asked was quite simple, really: "What the bloody hell will we do if he's elected?" - the words of Derek McDoogal. The thirty-seven year old man was enraged, beer resting in his palm, lips stretched back into a disturbing grin. There was something about the way his father looked out at the red, white and blue sea of people before him. Something peculiar. Like something out of the ordinary was going to happen.
It was 1:12pm - Derek had checked his wristwatch - when the 'Lincoln' finally appeared on the horizon. What Doug and Derek first observed it as a red dot grew bigger, crowds roaring, flags waving. With a grunt Derek stood up on the porch, followed by Doug. 
"She's coming in fast," Derek growled at once, marching inside, throwing down his beer.
"She's nearly here, Dad!" Doug called proudly. He could make out the face of the woman now; smiling wide, standing proudly in the back seat of the Lincoln. If Derek was there, Doug knew he'd be outraged. Finally Derek stepped out onto the porch, but Doug hadn't seen his father take it out. The crowds roared louder and the quiet drone of the engine could be heard, but Derek felt everything fall quiet. It was the quiet click that alerted Doug to his father's position.
"DAD, NO!" 
Bang.

{FIFTEEN YEARS LATER}
"I'll be damned if I can say so myself," Jaylin Barr murmured, eyes hooded in the winter sunrise. His  figure was leaned up against the dumpster of Shawshank Prison; a small correctional facility just out of Maine, Portland. The date was 22 November 1978; fifteen years after President McQueen had been assassinated and Derek McDoogal had been sentenced to life without parole. Now, the 52-year-old was sprawled out across the Shawshank docking bay; down to the filter of a contraband cigarette - an anniversary gift from Barr himself. McDoogal let out a chesty cough. "God damn, Barr, when did you get these? The 50's? They're stale!" 
Barr only took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. "Don't forget our agreement, McDoogal. Last time I checked, you were a prisoner," he said bluntly, dropping the cigarette to the ground and grinding it to ash with the heel of his boot. 
McDoogal's face dropped to a deathly glare. "And do you think you deserve your freedom? No, I don't think you do." 
Jaylin stepped forward to the nicotine-addicted man. 
"I'm not the one who killed the motherf***ing president-elect of the United States." he growled, leaning down, only to wince at the stench of McDoogal's foul-smelling breath. 
"I'd do it all again too!" McDoogal wheezed; and finished his sentence with another chesty cough. He took out a handkerchief, squeezing his eyes shut for just a few moments. He stopped coughing abruptly. Silence. Then, footsteps approaching him.
"Well if it isn't the man who nearly killed me," 
McQueen towered over the man, and he suddenly became aware that his scruffy orange uniform was pale in comparison to the once-president-elect's navy pantsuit. McDoogal was speechless. She'd grown so older; a strange feeling as he finally saw the face who had haunted him for years.
McQueen grinned, a somewhat evil glint in her wrinkled eye. "I never thought I would come face to face with you again, Derek." she began. McDoogal watched her nervously. 
"Yet here we are." 
McDoogal did not utter a word, simply out of sheer terror. 
"Aren't you gonna say somethin', sugar?" McQueen said, soft yet dangerously. Her Southern accent voice had an edge to it; an edge that made McDoogal's heart thump. 
"SAY SOMETHIN'!" 
Suddenly the entire prison seemed to fall quiet. In the distance, standing atop the guard's tower, Barr glanced up to see two guards looking over in the direction of the docking bay. No guns were in sight - they'd been prepped on the situation beforehand. Inside the prison, only a quiet murmur of prisoners was to be heard. 
McDoogal decided now was the best time to speak. 
"I-I..." 
"Or are you too drunk out of your mind to speak?" McQueen looked at him expectantly. 
McDoogal nervously nodded his head, too busy trying to ignore a wave of nausea that was washing over him. There was nothing to do as he watched McQueen pull a stack of fresh bills ($100? $1?) and hand it over to Barr, who took it with a smirk. 
McDoogal groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, rolling over onto his back. It was the click of a gun that made his heart sink and eyes snap open. 
"No-no!" McDoogal croaked. He tried to sit up, but two of McQueen's guards stepped forward to hold him down. Barr stood with a gun to his forehead, the metal of the barrel cold against his forehead.
"McDoogal, do you regret what you did to me fifteen years ago?" McQueen asked calmly, standing to the side of the gun.
"Y-yes... I regret everything..." 
"Is there anything you'd like to say to me before you go?" 
"I'm... I'm sorry, Ch....Chloe." 
"Thank you, Derek. But I simply cannot tolerate this behaviour. Oh, if only Uncle Jamie was alive. He would have had beaten you before the bullet even hit me." 
She'd finally said it. Yes, readers, McQueen and McDoogal were, in fact, first cousins. 
"What are you going to do to me?" 
McQueen continued, paying no attention to McDoogal. 
"But, you're in luck, your son just got back from the army."
"No, no, no no no!" 
The dock door opened slowly with a loud creak. McDoogal fought helplessly as the short man who sported a shaved head, whom he had not seen in over 30 years, march over. 
"Barr?" 
Barr handed over the gun to Doug, but it stayed pointed at the drunken man the entire time. McDoogal squeezed his eyes shut.
"Oh Dad. I haven't seen you in years, and this is how you repay me?"
"Doug... please don't.. I'll do anything." 
"Bulls**t, Dad. I knew you better than anyone. I knew you would do this someday. You had a hate for poor Chloe here for years. God forbid anything happened to her. I knew you didn't like her but I never thought you'd go and try to kill her!" Doug stopped to wipe a tear from his eye.
"I thought Chloe was a goner when you shot her. And it was you who tried to take her life from her. How could you do that, Derek?" Pete cried. 
"Son, nooooo," McDoogal wailed like that of a baby: an intoxicated, adult-sized baby, that is.
"And now," he began, tears streaming down his face, "We must, as a family, and as a country, get our revenge."
"No, you certainly can't." 
BANG.