Day 13: Before the Light

Photo Courtesy: Alberto Di Donato

What comes before the light

Is what translates the night;

The difference between dawn

And the shades of twilight.

What comes before the sun;

Before the skies go bright?

What thrives before the light,

Are demons with sharp eyes.

Legends of horror tales

Who kick our fright awake,

Because within the dark,

These things see us as we are.

What comes before the light

Is the deep secret down inside;

Our darkest fears arise

And try to paralyze

The very essence of

The stuff that turns us on.

Akpan

IntShoWriMo 2014: Day 13

Day 13: A Knife's Life

Write from the point of view of the knife inside a thief`s pocket.

—CreativeWritingPrompts.Com

Word Count: 1,000+

Eneh Akpan,
June 13, 2014

Day 13: Labyrinth

Courtesy: ZhiPeng Song (modified)

Like a chapter starting up in a children's story,

The details of my life unfold rid of glory,

Existing as indifferent as the stars,

Evanescing as calligraphy carved on the waters.

It's fleeting like debris swept off by strong current.

Constrained and consistently living on the edge of torment.

Rising and falling with time's own waves.

Like the route through a labyrinth, you can't map its ways.

Like a memory that ought to stay dead confounds us

Awaking again like a mummy defying the confines of its sarcophagus

Evoking that sunken sensation that won't go away.

Here lies a star fallen, lost, confused and above all played.

All at once, like dried up leaf which photosynthesizes still,

Hope arrived stamped on the wind like a seal,

Consuming all I am springing high like the tide.

Spectacular like an old fight birthing a new life.

Akpan

IntShoWriMo 2013: DAY 13

Courtesy: popfi.com

Today’s Prompt:

A picture on your mantle unexpectedly falls and crashes to the floor. As you go to pick it up, you notice a note hidden behind the picture. The message is from the future—and written by you. It instructs you to do something important. What does it say?

Courtesy: writersdigest.com

Link for Day 13: DAY 13: Crib Death Word Count: 1,694

Imagine a Postal Service that delivers mail to the past.

A mad scientist tries to harness what he calls infant intelligence from the brains of dead infants. Question is how does intend to tap into it if he succeeds, and exploit it for the good of humankind?

A lab assistant writes a letter to his past self, giving him detailed instructions on how to stop the man who is about to bring ruin to the universe through perverse research. 

Read the full story here, DAY 13: Crib Death

Keep your pen bleeding.

Akpan

Day 13: Threshold

Photo: mubi.com

I take a walk with myself down the corridors of sedate secrets,

And the perplexities I behold will rip open the veins.

The walls are decorated with serrated paneling. 

Time and consequence fled the stage

And left behind a trail of blood and a well turned strip of ruin.

But inside, my heart still finds courage to be strong.

Like many of the stuff which defies chemical analysis, it’s an exception to the rule.

And if I had to erase a strip of 10,000 walls,

At this point, I am of the opinion that brawn alone is an insufficient tool.

I strive for an opening in every vault of opportunity I access.

I have to you see, I am consciously grooming my inner biceps.

It’s funny how time flies

Just when you’re beginning to get a hang of things.

How the weight is thrown off enthusiasm just before you glimpse the finish line.

It’s hard to imagine standing in the middle of these eccentricities.

I’m swinging all I am on the carousel, perfecting the life cycle.

The storm is gathering up forces from a gale,

It’s the testing of everything for which I became disciple.

I close my eyes and hold my course; waiting to exhale

This is the one question eternity stands still to answer

Besides, I haven’t the slightest intent of changing stanza.

The taste of victory’s been slapped out of my mouth

And I pine for one more view of the clouds.

Life gets in the way of imagination

Working itself out in cavorts with the machinery of dissociation.

One more step and I’m in the coven of dangerous things;

Trapped within the hollows in these walls are forbidden screams.

Sounds that will pierce deaf ears and wake the dead.

But I’d rather confine my search to properties promising prospect.

Wordless voices, ghosts from the past deliver lethal utterances

Like grim oracles from a shrine uttered in present perfect tenses.

I ought to turn around and flee the horror at the end of the corridor;

I ought to disengage and lay off pursuit; turn off my fervor.

But the thing with the heart is it does what it wants to do.

I can’t quit the adventure; can’t hold still, I gatto move to the groove.

Incarcerated by my passion I hear my bones creak as I

Struggle to resist the urge in the wake of inescapable soul sacrifice.

It’s funny to think I was out to catch up on some fun.

And now here I am, I got my butt stuck in a rut and all.

But as a legend once said, Life goes on.

Akpan