inspiiral

– a collision of art and writing interlocking in spirals


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Misty

White streaks of long hair streamed behind the girl’s back as she wandered slowly through the forest; the wind trailing behind her. A soft wind it was; not too chilly, but just enough to cool the face.

A nearby breeze carried tendrils of mist and blew them all around the forest, until mist coloured all the trees in stripes and floated just above the grass. Streaks of sunlight shone through the mist, casting a mystique glow on the grass that was covered with morning dew. The scene was breathe-takingly beautiful.

The girl, face flushed from excitement, looked down at the flowers. She stared at them for a while, before deciding that she’d make daisy chains. Smiling, she bent down to touch the flowers, both hands outreached, ready to pull daisies. As she wrapped her fingers around the stalk, she frowned with confusion.

She got up, and paced around with frustration, jumping up and down on the spot before taking a deep breathe and bending down. Knees on the grass, she once again wrapped her fingers around a stalk. She moved her arms in an upwards jerking motion. Her clenched fists loosened to reveal air.

The flowers had passed through her.


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Glass Box

Just a new idea that was floating around~
Let me know what you think 🙂

Glass Box

Have you ever felt trapped, enclosed within a cold glass box?

The sides so smooth yet so restrictive, as you lay trapped and helpless in this vacuum.

Your arms hugging your knees that are pressed so tightly against your chest.

The size of this box is excruciatingly small, and the sun outside seems so far away.

If the sun is out at all.

You tap on the glass, testing it for areas of weakness. Can you break through it somehow?

If gentle force doesn’t work, then brutal force will, right? You muster up all your courage and strength before punching the ceiling. Cold liquid covers your hands and you quickly realise that it didn’t work. Not even a chink in the glass. If only you paid more attention in karate class..

Humour quickly drowns in despair as you realise the hopelessness of the situation.”If only you, if only you…”. A life full of regrets, there is still so much you want to do.. but do you have the tools to do it? what if you were a carpenter, but you only had your bare hands to work with? what if you were a builder, but owned no hammer? what if you were a writer but had no pen, an artist with no brush, a photographer but with no camera?

A loneliness so cold and empty it engulfs you.Despair so deep it covers you like a cold, soaking blanket.Uncertainty as dark as a black night sky.

How did you end up here, in this box?Did you not have to climb into it yourself, however unconscious it may have seemed?Did you not have to remain transfixed, and yourself refuse to stand up?What if all you had to do was stand up, and you could be free?What if all you had to do was believe in yourself to solve it all?You begin to move your arms back, and shift your weight onto your lower body.But wait.. what if that was all false hope?You shift your weight back again. It’s comfy in this box. You don’t need to move.What do other people know?

After thinking for a moment, you realise whether you feel like it or not, you need to get out of here. Oxygen will soon run out, fatigue will kick in and you won’t survive if you don’t move.

“Lord, help me. I’m not sure if what I’m doing is right, but help me get out. In Jesus’ name I pray….”

With one heave you stand up. And the box disappears.You find yourself enshrouded by darkness, but a bright light shines from above.

A miracle or your imagination?

You be the judge.


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She was Her Own Ghost

Hey ya, here’s another short story I wrote quite a while ago.
The date at the top says Nov 2010 so it’s probably full of things I can improve on.
I think I’ll work on improving the Donut poem and then work on editing this.

Hope you enjoy it 😛

And, as always, there is a deeper meaning behind the story!
Let me know what you think it is, and what you think the ghost represents 😛
I’ll be very interested to know! 🙂
– Inspiiral
 
Monday, November 29, 2010 at 6:03pm

She was Her Own Ghost

I watched her pick up the pieces of the shattered mirror; pieces of her soul, her body, her mind – fragments of her own being. A sigh escaped her delicate, dry lips. The poor child looked like she hadn’t slept for days. Her translucent skin made her look like someone who had lived their whole life in a hospital or, perhaps more correctly, someone who had touched death and come back. Long sleeves hung loosely around her frail body, a sheet someone would wear as a ghost costume on halloween. They covered the scars engraved into her arms, the scars that were bone deep.

Some would describe her as an angel, yet she lacked the refinery of one. There was no halo, no golden hair or any angelic features. And surely, her reflection in the mirror was the room in the background. This girl had no reflection. She was a ghost.

The mirror was a harsh reminder of her identity, one that she didn’t want. She was existing, yet not existing; alive, but dead. What was life? No matter how many times she stuck her photo on the mirror and pretended that was her reflection – that that was really her – nature would snatch it away again with a breeze from the window. It didn’t work – it never did! Why did she ever believe it could be any different?

The girl in the photo barely bore any resemblance to the girl in front of the mirror. The only thing that gave away how they were the same person was her blue eyes that glistened with tears, tears that intertwined with a gaze of determination.

Eyes fixed on the ground, she sharply thrust her head upwards, hesitating for a few moments before she forced her eyes to fix on what was above. Although she could only see the black hole painted on the ceiling above, she felt like she could see through to the blue sky beyond. The sky as crystal clear as her own eyes, yet full of vultures and birds of prey looking for kill.

The poison from her body was eating into her soul. She had to save herself before then. We had to avoid the excruciating pain.

Fear engulfed her as she mindlessly tore photos of the girl. The girl in the photo was evil! The perfect angel everyone loved and adored while she was here suffering flames sent from hell. There must be a way out.

When you’re experiencing horror, you can’t witness yourself suffer; not from an onlooker’s perspective. The true suffering doesn’t come from the actual torment, but from reliving the never-ending nightmare.

The girl fell into a swamp, swallowed by her own fate. She is my ghost, the perpetuation of my past. My dead identity. Soon she might come back out again, but I remind myself that she is just a ghost. She may haunt me but she cannot drag me into the swamp with her. Ghosts have no ability to do that… right?

Warm beams of sunlight peeped from behind the curtains, only to be shut out by the wave of the dark curtain. Was there an exit could such a thing exist?! The world was an infinite maze with no exit. The world was choking her. To death and beyond.

With a blink, I put an end to her pain. I couldn’t stand to watch her anymore… I didn’t want to be a witness to such sad sorrow.

When you’re experiencing horror, you can’t witness yourself suffer; not from an onlooker’s perspective. The true suffering doesn’t come from the actual torment, but from reliving the never-ending nightmare.

The girl fell into a swamp, swallowed by her own fate. She is my ghost, the perpetuation of my past. My dead identity. Soon she might come back out again, but I remind myself that she is just a ghost. She may haunt me but she cannot drag me into the swamp with her. After all, what can ghosts do?