Athazagoraphobia

In a crowded room, but feeling alone. Dreaming of a world, but not knowing where it is. The sound of laughter, the feeling of smiling, they seemed so far away. I scream and I gasp and I choke and I tug and I tear, but no one notices. Am I being forgotten? Can't anyone hear me?

I wake up every morning, hoping that something will help me get through the day and every evening I sit and I watch television or I look at the children playing and I can't feel my skin. I can't feel anything.

"Everything's fine," I would say to my boss. "No, really, I'm fine,"
Slacker, I would hear the other workers say.
My chest was heavy but I worked and worked but just failed to finish anything reasonable.
I knew it was coming but it was like a bullet to my chest when my boss came to my desk one day.
"I'm letting you go, sorry,"

I stayed with my family and cleaned the litter at parks and I would do chores, like I was a child. But I am a child, aren't I? Hopeless and weak. I'm the same person I was when I was younger. Nothing's changed. Is this life? What about all of those stories I heard as a child? Cinderella? The girl with nothing, suddenly having everything? Is this it? The trees still loose leaves in Autumn and it still snows in Winter.

I can see fireflies outside my window. They are dancing in the sky. I want to dance in the sky too. I sit below a tree and I listen to the sound of the night and I listen to the wind and the children playing, but I don't hear anything. I can't feel my skin, I can't feel my heart, I can't feel my past, or dreams. I feel isolated and I'm scared, I'm as scared as a child who gets lost when shopping with their mother in the supermarket. I'm a lost child.

And every time I'm in a crowded room, I feel alone. I dream of a world, but I don't knowing where it is. The sound of laughter, the feeling of smiling, they seem so far away. I scream and I gasp and I choke and I tug and I tear, but no one notices. Am I being forgotten? Why Can't anyone hear me?

The Dream

The clouds hovered like evil angels, something malevolent in the red from the rising sun. I'm no sailor, but the adage holds firm: red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Admittedly I'm no sailor, nor will I be, nor have I ever been. I still use this phrase though, because to me, a red sky means that blood will be spilled on this day.

Slowly, I stand up. The world around me is broken, almost as if a bomb had fallen, which it probably has, judging by the sounds I hear. I close my eyes, the better to concentrate on the sounds. My mouth starts moving, rattling off calibres of the shots that can be heard.

A relatively deep sound, the first shot I identify, and it is followed by man more of the same sound "7.62 mil, possibly NATO, possibly Warsaw pact."

A sharper crack, relatively high "9 by 19 Parabellum, probably in use with a pistol or PDW."

I suddenly feel someone looking at me, and open my eyes to look around me. No need. In front of me stood a ragtag group of men, all dressed in ragged orange camouflage, with weapons made of wood. My comrades, my workmates.

Instinctively, I know I am to lead them through the dangers outside of this crater we're in. I look down, and suddenly my clothes, my comfortable jeans and t-shirt have been replaced with orange camouflage, and I notice I'm holding a wooden rifle.

"Right then, ladies, let’s go! Move it, move it, move IIIIT!!!" shouts a voice I vaguely recognise. I look around and notice my mouth is still moving. It’s me shouting.

We start moving up over the side, and suddenly a massive wave of rabbits attack us. They literally are a wave, falling over each other, tumbling forwards, unstoppable. We stand firm, like rocks in the path of a wave, but lose our youngest member, whom the rabbits proceed to devour on the spot. I look closer, and realise he has begun to go completely orange, apart from his hair, which turns an odd hue of green. I also notice that the rabbits all have human faces, rather like the one my boss has.

I turn around, and am suddenly standing at a cliff edge. Far, far below me, I hear music. Loud, angry music, full of guttural sounds, as if someone had decided to start singing after a century of chain-smoking and screaming. I decide I like it, and turn around to the stairs behind me, which the men I was leading must have dug. They, in the meantime, have disappeared down the stairs already.

I’m just about to go down, when the singer of this band, looking like some sort of mixture of a revived Viking and a punk, with his long, flowing beard, Doc Martens and Long, blonde hair, down at the bottom of the cliff, stops singing, looks up and talks to me.

“Hey, darling” He says, in my girlfriend’s voice, and his voice starts off an earthquake. A massive man, who just seconds ago, was singing something about entering Valhalla in a voice that sounded about as nice as being castrated with a rusty spoon, was now calling me “darling”?

“You’re going to be late! Come on! GET UP!”

And suddenly I’m in a bed in the middle of Vienna. The singer has become my girlfriend, and the earthquake has become her shaking my shoulder. I plunge back into the real world, where I work in a store named “Penny Market,” orange camouflage is part of the employee uniform there.

And I’m meant to be there in 15 minutes. Alone getting there takes 30, never mind hunting down my socks and uniform, nor showering, nor breakfast.

I groan, and drop back into the bed, wishing this were a dream. Sadly, its not, as her slap on my shoulder proves.

“Come on! I’m going to be late too! And NO, I won’t give you my keys!” Oh. My keys are still AWOL.

I try to get up, yet the punch I receive from my hangover isn’t doing me any favours whatsoever.

“No more vodka. From today on, no more vodka.” I mumble, trying to think why I got hammered yesterday. Letting my train of thought derail, and trying to simultaneously imagine what imaginative ways my boss could say I were a waste of time and effort, and also gauge my chances of being able to sneak in, I looked out the window.

The clouds hovered like evil angels, something malevolent in the red from the rising sun. I'm no sailor, but the adage holds firm: red sky at morning…

All's fair in Love and War

Her face was the last thing I saw, the last thing I remembered... I knew that wherever I went, if I had her in my mind, I was invincible. Nothing in the world could stop me from being reunited with her love.

The stench of fear hung in the air. Men eyed each other edgily, eager for something to happen. Their uniforms hung limply on their bodies, encased in steel, clinking at every movement of their bodies. Around me several men were praying to their respective gods, pleading for survival, while the more experienced veterans looked to their weapons, honing and keening their blades until they were fit for battle. Those were the men that would survive.

Me, I just had love. I believed that love would protect me and see me through the game kings call war. Horns blew and around me soldiers paced nervously. My mind kept on going back to the happier moments of my life, intertwined in the arms of my beloved, enjoying the beauty of life. Thinking back, I smiled.

"Weapons to the ready" roared our platoon commander. Men shuffled around, the hiss of swords being removed from scabbards filling the air. "For the King!" we cried. We charged forward and into the fray.

My sword sliced and hacked, as if it had a life of it's own, protecting me from our enemies hands. Time seemed to slow; my sword slowly transforming into a deadly pattern of steel, the cries of the fallen, the shouts of men engaged in battle.

A jar of steel on my shield brought me back to my senses. I turned, dodging the enemy soldier's blow and driving my sword into his chest. He emitted a shout of agony and fell to the ground. Tears welled up in my eyes as I realised that that soldier and I were no different from each other. Each of us were puppets of our kingdom, fighting for those we loved. I dried my tears and resumed the slaughter.

Far ahead, I saw an enemy archer slowly drawing his bow, taking aim at one of my comrades. I shoved people aside and jumped in front of him, just as the archer let the arrow fly. It buzzed like an angry hornet, before burying itself in my neck.
The soldier whose life I had saved looked astonished, slowly glancing back between the archer and the arrow meant for him. I died with a smile on my face, knowing that I had done one good deed in my life, and that the woman I love would be proud of me.

Her face was the last thing I saw, the last thing I remembered... I knew that wherever I went, if I had her in my mind, I was invincible. Nothing in the world could stop me from being reunited with her love.

Diary Entry: the Fireball and the Lantern

The clouds hovered like evil angels, something malevolent in the red from the rising sun. I'm no sailor, but the adage holds firm: red sky at morning.

The grand rising sun reflected its splendor to the serene oceanic waters giving the water a movement of still, evil redness. The red shimmer of the tranquil blue ocean is what commences daily.

Here I am, sitting in a small brown boat, writing out my thoughts and observations to the morning view before me.

The view is comparatively resembled as Monet’s exquisite painting; Impression: Sunrise. The focal red sun spreading its beam across the sky and reflecting its ray to the surface of the ocean. The morning sky blended in with the white angelic clouds and sharp rising redness. Though the image implies calmness, the real thing is mixed with a touch of turpitude coming from the distinct colour scheme equivalent to fire.

The view of the striking sun mixed with the original blue sky seems to represent the state of mankind. The evil gradient to the virtuous, the good colliding with the bad and the love clashing with hate of the daily world. The balance of earth can be contemplated through this striking view.

As time passes by the red surrounding fades to become a singular fireball lighting and wakening the earth. The sun lies there, still and calm but shining and radiant.
Thereafter a stretch of time, the fading of the fireball melts into the dark blue ceiling and is taken over by the sky’s lantern, bringing the earth to its state of slumber.

The view of the grand white moon opposes to the morning view, not only dark but as if the universe changed. There’s the glorious moon and little sparkles here and there, some shining more than others, some bigger than others and some so small you could hardly see them.
The view was similar to Van Gogh’s semi- abstract piece; ‘The Starry Night’. The dark blue sky with yellow circles and swirls representing the lights rays, the stars and focal moon give off.

As the hour arrives at the time of day once again, the procedure repeats; and so the clouds hovered like evil angels, something malevolent in the red from the rising sun. The adage holds firm: red sky at morning.

Final Dream

The clouds hovered like evil angels, something malevolent in the red from the rising sun. I'm no sailor, but the adage holds firm: red sky at morning, red sky at dusk.

Now, Fog crept over the valley which let the air seem more unpleasant than before. It was the coldest this country had ever seen, and I had ever experienced. Not a single creature will poke its head around the corner, they all are fast asleep.

Through the forest I wandered. My hair was a fierce lion's mane, not washed for long and sticking out in every possible direction. I was stumbling on the edge of life, trying not to slip into the void of nothingness. I hadn't eaten, nor slept, nor spoken for days. The fog has lasted for a long time but now it was much worse than before. I could barely see and food was a hopeless need. The atmosphere changed again and in the blink of an eye the dubious, white smoke disappeared and the red sky with its evil clouds could be seen again.

Knowing that even if I were lucky enough to find meat, I did not have the strength to make the kill. All berries and fruits are frozen. Yes....I could set a snare, but that means waiting, so I'd have to settle down in order not to face the same verdict as the berries. Knowing that it was my only hope, I collected some wood and made a fire. I decided to set a snare and after accomplishing this I built myself a tiny shelter for the night. After I warmed up, I got some snow and melted it on the fire in my deer skin pouch. At least some drink! It gave me just enough energy to fall asleep.

Two days passed and the hole in my stomach was unbearable, as was the emptiness of the snare. By now, I did not mind hearing my own teeth chatter anymore, the noise grew my only companion. The third night it snowed. My toes had died by now, the frost was feeding itself on them. Then, at some point, I drifted into the world of dreams with no restrictions, somewhere between conscious and unconsciousness.

I dreamed that right in front of me was a beautiful stag with bigger antlers than my mind could have ever imagined. He could neither smell, nor hear me. Feeling the pain in my stomach, I did not marvel at this godlike creature any longer, but seized my bow, aimed and released. I watched the arrow flow with great speed-and hit the deer. He roared only for a moment and fell. With respect I approached the animal and whispered “sorry” as I started taking it apart with my knife. I had a bite, and another, and another! But my hunger just got worse. I kept eating until nothing was left. Still, the hole in my stomach did not shrink an inch. Desperately, I started crying as my energy left me.

For a second I woke from my strange dream and opened my eyes. The sun was glowing red as never before. Then my eyes closed themselves again. But I did not go back to my previous dream. No, I drifted in silence, until slowly I saw myself.

I was a child, slowly growing up. Everything that ever passed through my eyes repeated itself in front of me. I still drifted in the darkness. Now the image changed to something less blurry. The clouds hovered like evil angels, something malevolent in the red from the rising sun. I'm no sailor, but the adage holds firm: red sky at morning, red sky at dusk.

The wish

The sound of applause arose. I suddenly became aware of the moment. My mind returned back to the stage after disappearing into the world of music for a few minutes. I stood up and stared into the crowd that was clapping for me... And I saw her... She'd been there all this time, listening to me. I stared at her for a few seconds and smiled... Nothing could have made me happier at that moment...
All I ever wanted was for her to hear me play one more time; I wanted to see that image of her watching me play once more. I wanted to see her face in the clapping crowd again like I did when I was a kid. Years past after I had to say goodbye to her, but I still continued playing. I was continuing playing piano because of her; Because I knew she would want me to. She was the one who always incouraged me to play; The one who always sat there and listened to me while I played. I spent most of my time with her. She would tuck me into bed every night and tell me stories. She was always by my side...
The next performance took place. It had been a long time since my last performance. But so many things felt the same that night. I don't know why, but it felt as if history was somehow repeating itself. Apparently it was...
The sound of applause arose. I suddenly became aware of the moment. My mind returned back to the stage after disappearing into the world of music for a few minutes. I stood up and stared into the crowd that was clapping for me... And I saw her... She'd been there all this time, listening to me. I stared at her for a few seconds and smiled... Nothing could have made me happier at that moment...

Task 4

Firstly - and most importantly - welcome to the blog to our new WORDVOODOO MODERATORS. All of our Danube bloggers should now have TWO moderators, dedicated to commenting specifically on your attempts each fortnight, and giving you suggestions for improvement.

Please feel free to respond to their comments, and enter into a dialogue about your work too if you can: this will be a fantastic way to improve your writing even further.

Now for Task 4. This is the last PROSE task for the time being. Next time we begin the difficult journey towards writing effective, skilled poetry. But, for now, one more exercise in PROSE FICTION.

For this week's task, I would like you to experiment with a cyclical narrative structure (i.e. one which starts precisely the same as it ends.)

Below is a (very) short story I wrote for a G10 class a couple of years ago. As you can see, one of the rules I set myself was that I was going to begin and end with the same few sentences; as for how I tried to achieve this (effectively and originally), well that was the challenge.

Your task is to write a short narrative which does exactly that. It must begin and end in the same (or ALMOST the same) way. And to make it easier, I am going to give you your opening (and therefore your conclusion too). The rest is up to you...

The clouds hovered like evil angels, something malevolent in the red from the rising sun. I'm no sailor, but the adage holds firm: red sky at morning...

And to help you some more, here is the piece I wrote myself:

I’m not waving goodbye to anybody. There isn’t any point. They aren’t interested in me really anyway; they are here for themselves.

Why did she have to go? How could she leave us behind? What did she think I was going to do without her? That’s all that is going through their heads; not a thought for me.

They never really liked me, to tell the truth. Nothing violent, just a cold, simmering antipathy which trickled between us whenever I was around. They never said as much. Oh, no, that would have been too honest. Why tell someone what you feel when you can insinuate as much through a look, a sigh, a casual avoidance? Their bodies said, “Please steer clear of us. There’s something about you that’s not normal. ‘Not normal’ scares us. So leave us alone.”

Of course, when I told anyone about this, they thought I was mad. Paranoia; that’s what my teachers said. “That girl, she thinks the whole world is against her, when no one’s done anything!” “I’m tired of telling her this.” “Why can’t she just get on top of life, rather than almost asking life to get on top of her?” They grew tired of the girl who they heard crying wolf, even though, all the time, the wolf’s teeth were gnawing away at her soul.

Look: there are the girls themselves. One of them is even crying. Real tears chasing down her icy cheeks. I don’t feel sorry for her. I know you’ll think me just as cold, but I don’t. You didn’t see her with her heel on my forehead, or my torn hair in her claws. It wasn’t her crying then, I can assure you.

The pipes were stronger than I thought. I’d studied them for weeks, but still a part of me wasn’t sure. They will snap. The changing rooms will flood. The teachers will come running. And paranoia will be scooped up again. What on earth do you think you were playing at? What were you thinking? You could have killed yourself!

There was no flood, though. Metal proved more reliable than flesh and bone; and stronger too. It was my neck that snapped. A clean break. Quick too. I swear I could hear it, but maybe I’m wrong.

So I’m not waving goodbye to anybody. There isn’t any point. They aren’t interested in me really anyway; they are here for themselves.

Any questions, or if you are unsure in ANY way about how to excel in this task, just email me and I will explain.

In the meantime, I shall EXPECT you all to be demonstrating that you are learning from all the comments being posted on your work. After all, if you continue doing exactly the same things, despite the feedback you are being given, the process becomes pointless. Above all, please take some risks - with language, grammar, syntax (sentence structure) and narrative. Do things differently! Try out new techniques! Write in different ways to how you are used to doing! (And have some fun!)

Good luck!

Your deadline, as promised, is midnight on Tuesday 23rd November.

englishguru