hi pals. send in your creative writing, artwork, music, videos, photography, whatever you like. this week the subject will be:AGE

i'm going to kickstart this week off with a short story. it's quite hastily written and i'll come back and edit it later probably but i like what i've wrote here.

Like many others, I enjoy reading in the bath. Because the rest of my house is so loud, with my family constantly fighting, it's the only quiet time I get. And I really love reading. So much so, that I started getting 3 baths a day, each for an hour. My skin would get horribly wrinkly, but I'd lose track of myself and the world, absorbed in some plot about a future pizza delivery boy, or a little boy sending letters to someone, or even a group of programmers at Microsoft. Each bath time I would bring a stack of books with me, and read several at once, picking up one and reading a chapter, then the next and reading a chapter of that and so on. It became problematic for the rest of the family wanting to use the toilet, or bathe themselves, especially when I was too lost in the world of a writer to hear their screeching and banging on the bathroom door. I'd completely lose track of time, and be punished for it.


They'd take my books away during the day, only letting me have them back at night. So I would bathe at night instead. I'd get in about 10, and wouldn't get out until 9 the next morning, freezing cold but still very happy. My skin suffered a lot too. After a few weeks of this, my entire body was covered in wrinkles caused by the water. And they wouldn't go away after a few hours like normal. They'd stay until I was just about to get in the bath the next evening, with an even bigger pile of books than the night before. During the day I'd have to go and get new books, either from the library or the local charity shop, and this became problematic too. They'd stop recognising me as Charlie Hickle, and instead called me Old Man Hickle, insistent on helping me up the steps to the floor with the books on, and even making me a cup of tea on occasion. I thought they were just being nice and didn't think anything of it, and would eagerly await bath time.


Then one morning, after transforming into the shivering wreck as per usual, I collapsed. I wasn't sure at the time what had happened, but when I woke up there was a pretty young nurse looking up at me, and I was in bed. She told me that I had pneumonia, caused by all the time spent in the freezing cold bath water. She said I should be more careful at my age, and I protested, saying I was only 21. She laughed, and said that that's what they all say.

yeah, the formatting here isn't great. if you want to send me the formatted .odt/whatever extension open office is, i'll make sure the PDF has the "correct" format.

i'm going away this weekend so expect to see them in a few days, sorry! it's been a bit hectic, three birthdays and a trip away.

I couldn't come up with anything for the first topic but this week I've GOT A THING:

It's...dicko!  My original plan was to draw birthday dicko as like...an 8 year old, with this horrified look on his face.  But once I did the line art it looked like a stupified modern-day dicko minus the facial hair.  Then once I colored it I realized my marker for his hair was too light and it looks like old age senile dicko.  So a late happy birthday dicko, even as a drawing you manage to age so quickly...


larger

like the things posted so far. nice lines, vellfire.

i did this in like half an hour just then so it's kind of rushed and i know i'm late but it's better than nothing, so there. i was planning to try and do a short story but rhyming is easier for me. i guess this is a poem again. it's the to-be-read-with-a-voice kind. might be only for my voice/accent, i dunno. i was a bit less careful about rhymes and rhyme schemes this week so there's a few pointless end-rhymes.

21

Auckland wasn't built in a day, I was made in an instant.
Planned for months, mortgage under my cot. I'm not
a mistake of any kind. Wish I was.
Never been rash enough for poor odds
or to ever really speak to God.

I'm supposed to have come of age, Twenty One, I take my time.
When I was seven, thought I was eighty nine. I'm so old now.
I need my quiet peace of mind.
I need a cup of tea, the doorbell chimes. Is it mine?

Usually for someone else.
My left ventricle is like a crypt, my skull in it.
When it beats, I peer through the curtains, top lip
curled up like a crocodile. This might be my only face.
Noise control on speed dial.

People are from outer space. When they land I shake
hands and quiver to myself, some kind of head case.
I'm the head of state in these parts, watch your step,
got an itchy trigger finger with my tongue on the end.

Auckland wasn't built, it was made, just like me.
Organic product of well-meaning bureaucracy.
Auckland never comes of age, nothing much takes place
in this city, my home, this might be its only face.

This might be the only place I know where the freckles are
roads like wrinkles, I could part a sea of cars.
I could see, apart from cars, something else on the road ahead.
Both of us come upon age only once we're dead.

man, these contributions have been great. paolo, welcome to the forums, and that piece of music is really really lovely. good job.

vellfire, that is seriously great. thank you so much! i'm... i'm flattered *blushes*

great contributions. i'll keep this open for any more late ones, and i promise i'll have the PDFs ready soon.

EDIT: Oops, late submission..

MAGE OF THE VILLAGE

There was once a powerful mage
searching for secrets to infinite age.
Locked in research mansion, prisoner to his cage
for science and magic! and his pride as a mage.

One night he came close to perfecting the pottage
But suddenly the town's attacked by pirates who pillage,
sealed his own house, but neighbors didn't have this blockage.
Outside full of killing, and all kinds of dirty rampage.

Immortality spell, dependent to the linkage
if he leaves his mansion, it will result to a leakage
spell fails forever, or help the citizens, situation's under gage.
conscience in rambles, the mage is in rage.

A woman fell down from running, what a disadvantage
a nearby pirate cocked his gun, about to do her damage.
Mage saw and in an instant summoned up courage
teleported with flashing rainbows, fireballed the fucking savage.

Then with no hesitation cast killer macrophage
making sure all the pirates can never drink their beverage.
All dead, now all was left was to quickly chant the bandage
especially to this girl he rescued, who looks rather underage.

Eyes met and spines chilled, with a timebreaking voltage.
For the first time, felt like heaven, higher than coke overdosage.
Girl said "Thank you sir mage, my name is Bringerland Paige"
The mage asked "be my student, I'll teach you a new language."

And so, though potion of unlimited age can never achieve usage,
the mage found the prettiest girl, not to mention nice cleavage.
Life everlasting has nothing to life of fruitage,
that's what the mage learned and thus have written on his passage.

Some years later, asked her hand for marriage.
Thus ends the story of the mage of the village.