Question:

I really need to know, am I a good writer, or is this bullshit?

by Guest22798105  |  11 years, 4 month(s) ago

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The sound of the crushing waterfall obliterated all forms of competition, maneuvering the ears’ senses in the area. The boys whooshed by the raging, ravenous river paying no attention to the minor fault that lay only several feet away. A minor tumble, fumble, would give the monstrous body the chance to swallow them out of sight and into heart. They gave none of this any thought, for they galloped gaily around it like kittens provoking a frothing pit bull, oblivious. “Boys, lunch is ready! You better be movin’ here quick ya hear me?” Mother routinely hinted the seemingly infinite three second countdown. The numbers would never end, and neither would the laughter of the boys as one chased the other about, screaming and shouting carelessly. The stern words from their mother would dissolve in the river, as did all their worries and troubles. They would go on as though nobody uttered a word from the real world, as they continued to delve deeper and deeper into their fantasy. “Boys! I’m goin’ to count to three… one…tw-“ The words no longer made sense, for they fueled the writhing waterfall, creating greater crashes and crumbles. They would only hear their chants and screams, a peek-a-boo and a ready-or-not. The fault is getting closer, but they would not step near it yet, for their fantasy carried them to the creaking porch. One step-two step-three step, they fumbled on and on crashing and bashing after each other with only laughter as a guide to one another. They were blinded by it, lost scent from it, but they would indulge in it’s sound. It would circle them on and on, spiraling into a twisting tornado of flashes and bashes of sounds and screeches. “Two…” They slammed the door in no fashionable manner, mud from their shoes flying, grass splatting. The crushing of the waterfall could still be heard thousands of miles away… It would deafen their eyes, making the pair slip and slide on the sleek carpets of the dining room. Mud flying, grass splatting. The rooms were left in mayhem as the tornado slowly devoured the entire house tile by tile, wall by wall, and room by room. “Boys!” There were none. Only the chaos left behind seemingly eons ago. They made for the stairs, grabbed onto the banister and pulled the weight of their world, dragging it along aggressively but cautious enough to keep it in balance. Higher and higher they would go, the anchors tying them gone have been lifted and hoisted on board. The cold lunch was disregarded as dinner was being prepared. The sun was rising recklessly meeting the moon while resting. The waterfall’s crashes echoed light years away into the dark corners of the universe where light was yet to discover. Higher and higher. One step-two step-three step. The fog was thickening and vision was blurring. Their laughter would guide one another, screeching and screaming ahead of each other. Lighting and thunder. The snow was whipping across their fragile faces, higher and higher they went. “Boys, food is on the table!” Bang and crack, the haze would settle and the snow get’s thicker. Higher and higher they went, the banister at their side a blurred image. They moved faster and faster, challenging the raging river with a dash. They ravenously ate up the space ahead of them, squealing and squeaking to their heart’s desire. The river was far behind now as did the days grow old. “Get down here!” They were too high up, too far away, too enamored by their laughter and it’s squeals and squeaks. “Now!” They laughed and yelled with joy, prancing on and on around each other. The fault grows closer and their mother’s words farther. Their worries grow warmer and the laughter recedes. The snow grows colder and they lose sight of each other. The fog grows thicker and the squeals are choked. Silence engulfs them both and devours them before the river does. But the fault grows closer. “Three!” Slip. Crack. Bash. Skid. Crunch. Bing. Their voices echoe into the dark corners of the world, but no one is there to hear them. They grasp around only to find water everywhere. Water up and water down. They twirl around and around as their worries and troubles encircle them. The water is too cold to bear, they’re getting too soaked to move. Muscles mortified and rigid. The sound of the crushing waterfall obliterated all forms of competition. Reach out and grab that beam penetrating the eyes. Squinting. Waiting. Hoping.

 Tags: Am, Bullshit, writer

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1 ANSWERS

  1. Guest28059607

     MOUTHFULL

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