Saturday, June 21, 2014

The Elementalists

Hi everyone! This is my last Creative Writing story. I know that maybe the description is a bit much, so feel free to skip over it. Thank you so much for reading this and my book! I hope you enjoy, and please comment! Thanks!

A girl, eighteen years of age, sat cross-legged in the middle of a perfectly white room, her posture completely straight. The floor was composed of pale wood, the walls cream. The girl herself wore a baggy, long-sleeved white t-shirt, over white pants. Her feet were bare. Her hair was black, and streamed down her back in loose curls, with a few strands that were bright gold, her eyes were golden like honey, and her skin was a light brown. Her name was Kiana. She was the Watcher, the Waiter, the Warrior. She was the Sorceress. The Elementalist. And first and foremost, she was the Illusionist.
Disturbing the silence of the room, the door opened softly. Five girls came in. Their ages ranged from fifteen to eleven. They waited in silence for Kiana to acknowledge their prescence. Kiana smiled to herself. Good. They had learned. Perhaps now, they were truly ready. To take on their roles, and protect the world.
Hours passed, but the girls did not move. They knew that Kiana would rise when she was ready. Finally, Kiana rose to her feet in a single, fluid moment. She turned, a graceful, elegant movement, and looked upon the five girls.
She walked on bare feet, soundless, to the first girl.
“Aedre,” she murmured. The girl of age fifteen. She had very, very dark hair, a true black, that fell perfectly straight around her shoulders, and bright, deep blue eyes, a blue so true it seemed to defy the meaning of the word itself. She wore all blue - dark blue jeans and a dark blue blouse. She curtsied. Aedre was the only one with a bag, a brown leather satchel rather like a messenger bag.
“Lady Kiana.”
“Are you ready to accept this burden?”
“I have been since the day I was born, Lady.” Kiana nodded at her answer. She took the girls hands for a moment, and squeezed them tightly, then moved to the next girl.
“Gaia,” she said softly, a mere wisp of the word. The fourteen year old girl with long, straight hair the color of caramel that swept to her waist and eyes green as grass looked up to meet her eyes. She had a smattering of freckles splashed across the bridge of her nose, and wore white jeans and a dark brown blouse. She too curtsied.
“Mistress.”
“Are you ready to take on this?”
“Always, Mistress,” she said. Kiana leaned forward, and kissed her once, quickly on each cheek.
“Aira,” she said, her voice the merest trace of sound in the air. The girl, aged thirteen years, looked up. Her hair was a very pale blonde, and fell straight three and a half inches exactly below her shoulders before curving inwards. Her eyes were icy blue, and her skin was very pale. She wore a white top and faded, sky blue jeans. She followed what her predecessors had done, and curtsied.
“My Lady,” she said.
“You are prepared?”
“Of course.” Aira possessed an easy confidence, that annoyed Gaia, who needed to make sure every plan was laid out in minute detail. Kiana smiled to herself. They would work well together. She took Aira’s shoulders, and squeezed them slightly, a gentle, comforting pressure.
“Aithne,” she said, her voice a whisper. Aithne’s twelve year old eyes locked on her own. She had long hair so rich a red that it looked dyed, and bright green eyes, too bright. A splash of freckles lay across her nose, slightly lopsided so there were more on the left side of her face than the right. She wore black jeans, and a sequined, one strap red top. Aithne always stood out, clashing with Aedre, who preferred to wear simple clothing and pass under the eyes of all who beheld her. She curtsied.
“Teacher.”
“You know the risks?”
“I am ready.” Kiana squeezed the girl’s hands, and kissed her on the brow. Finally, she moved on the the last girl.
“Maia,” she said softly, just the merest suggestion of the word. Maia had glossy black hair that tumbled around her small shoulders, and large, dark, brown eyes like melted chocolate, looking up from her eleven year old face. She wore white jeans an oversized white t-shirt with a shimmering gold locket around her neck. The white emphasized her light brown skin and finely chiseled features. She looked like Kiana. Just like her.
Just as Aedre looked like Clara, and Gaia looked just like Illadri, and Aira looked like Sky, and Aithne looked like Jessa. Clara, Illadri, Sky, and Jessa. Along with Kiana, they were the previous generation of the elementalists. Now, the next elementalists were here. They were also the last.
Aedre. Water.
Gaia. Earth.
Aira. Air.
Aithne. Fire.
And Maia. Illusion.
Just like Kiana.
Every five hundred years, the old Elementalists died away, until only one was left to train the new generation. But Aedre, Gaia, Aira, Aithne, and Maia would be the last. They would have to be the saviors of the human race, or they were doomed. Their very names were the proof. Aedre meant stream, Gaia meant earth, Aira meant air, Aithne meant fire, and Maia meant illusion.
Maia curtsied.
"Illusionist."
"You know what you must do?"
"I am ready." Kiana cupped the girl's face in her hands for the briefest second.
"Then we shall begin," Kiana murmured. She turned to Aedre.
"Aedre. Water, rivers, streams, ponds, lakes, puddles, and even the mighty oceans. All are under your control. Show me you have the power." Aedre moved her hands apart, slim fingers dancing on the air. Aedre's aura blazed around her, a shimmering iridescent blue. It shifted through shades of blue, a not blinking, steady, a tracery of veins lacing their way through it in the shades of blue. A bubble of pure water formed, and stretched with her hands. She pushed her hands together, and straight out, cleaving the water, and two seperated bubbles formed. She snapped her fingers. One bubble formed itself into ice, the other was superheated into gas. She moved one index finger, and the bubbles reformed. The water formed itself into letters in the oldest language, a language humans no longer remembered, spelling out a single word. Water.
"You are ready," Kiana whispered. "Arraida liaethana." Aedre shivered at hearing the words of true power. A streak of her hair, black as polished river stones, turned a beautiful blue. And, fast as a blink of an eye, she ... changed. She wore a shining silver mail coat that gleamed blue somehow and reached to her knees, links flexible as a rubber band, but stronger than steel. At her waist, hung a sword set with a gorgeous blue jewel, and a quiver and arrows were slung across her back. The angles and planes of her face had ... changed, somehow, becoming longer, more angled, her distinctive eyes becoming larger and slanted in her face.
Kiana moved to Gaia.
"Gaia. The entire earth belongs to you. It is your domain. You are the queen of it. Prove to me you are worthy of this."
Gaia raised her hands. The pale wood cracked under her feet, and a shoot pushed it's way up through the floor. She held out her hand flat and pulled it upwards, and the shoot began to grow, into a young tree, with a slender trunk, covered in perfect brown wood, leaves glossy green, hung with peaches, full, juicy, and heavy. She had created years of growth in mere minutes.
"You are ready," Kiana whispered. "Lienaya kairthalya." Gaia trembled at these words of power, the words of creation. And then, in the merest fraction of a second, she changed. Her clothing changed, her shirt becoming shimmering bronze links of chain mail. Her caramel colored hair was braided over her shoulder, but now there were a few thin streaks of blonde and darker brown. It was tied with a golden ribbon. Her face had changed, like Aedre's, and her green eyes now had speckles of gold and brown within them. At her hip was a golden sword set with an emerald green jewel, and she carried a double bladed axe slung across her back.
Kiana took a step, and stood before Aira.
"Aira ... the air is yours. You have the power to control it, shape it, create it. Show me that this is who you are.
Aira pointed her foot, and tapped a toe on the ground. Where she had tapped, a swirling miniature hurricane formed, and swirled around their feet, destroying the mats where it went. She curled her fingers, moving her hands as if she were running them around the outside of a sphere. Then, she plucked a strand of hair from her head, and allowed it to fall within the imaginary ball. She had bunched the molecules in her see-through ball so tightly that the air remained their. She curled a hand, and wind emmitted from her feet, pushing her up so that she was precariously balancing on jets of air.
"You are ready," Kiana murmured. "Aduaeni sirnaiecai." Aira shook as well, at hearing the words of true power, and began to change. She now wore a knee-length coat of ice white chain mail. Her icy blue eyes had the merest speckles of silver. A streak of icy blue traveled along her pale hair, a dye that could never be washed out or faded. Her face had changed, planes and angles shifting. At her waist, hung a sword made of a metal so pale a silver it was nearly white, set with a perfectly clear jewel. Across her back, a staff of white was slung, the head of it carved into the likeness of a lion.
Kiana stepped again to the side.
"Aithne. Fire is yours to command to make the flames dance, to control it, to make them destroy, and make them hope. Show me you are deserving of this power."
Aithne flicked her pinkie finger, and the nail glowed a dull orange for a second before popping alight with a thin, wavering strand of flame. She flicked her hand, and the fire spread. She stamped her foot, and the fire traveled up her arm and down her body leaving only her head and neck unburning. She tossed back her dark red hair, and the flames completely encased her, yet none spread onto the wooden floors of the room. Then, with a single flick of her pinkie, the fire was back there, then only her nail glowed, a pale yellow now, then the fire was out completely.
"You are ready," Kiana said softly. "Hixeandra Coliarneida." Aithne shivered, to hear these words of pure existence, then she too changed abruptly. She wore now chain mail that was blood red and fell to her knees. Her long hair was braided starting over her left ear, falling across the back of her head, and down her shoulder. Her green eyes had glimmering speckles of red now. At her waist hung a leaf-bladed sword set with a ruby red jewel. Across her back, a war hammer was slung. Her face too had changed, it was more angular, less childlike.
Kiana stepped to the last girl.
“Maia. You have the power of illusion, to make people see what you want them to see, to make them feel what you wish them to feel. Show me you have the power."
Maia stamped her foot. Immediately, hissing serpents boiled and bubbled up from the floors and slithered over the tiles. One bit Kiana, and searing pain enveloped her ankle. She raised her hnds high over her head, and the snakes vanished, strong sunlight beaming through the room, seemingly from no where, filling Kiana with warmth and hope and happiness. She pushed her hands apart, and the entire room was walled and painted in black.
"You are ready," whispered Kiana, happy, but also dreading what was to come. "Illaikyara aeinivaisa." Maia shivered at hearing the words of pure existence. She changed, too quickly to see. She now wore a gleaming coat of black chain mail that reached her knees. Her black hair was touched with gleaming gold threads, fanning out gently around her though there was no breeze. She had a sword set with a gleaming black jewel rimmed with gold, and a slender spear was slung across her back. Her irises had turned a bright gold, like honey. The planes and angles of her face had changed.
Kiana collapsed to her knees.
Her dark, lustrous hair, once with a few thin gold strands, was turning to a pure black, the gold fading. The beautiful gold of her eyes had changed to the rich, coffee brown of her youth, like melted chocolate. The girls were shouting. Kiana beckoned them to kneel by her.
"You are now ... the Elementalists," she gasped raggedly. She drew five vials of liquid from her belt. One glowed rich red, the next a transluscent blue, the third an icy white, the fourth rich brown, the fifth, black swirled with gold.
"This is the last thing you need to harness your powers fully. Wear them around your necks," she gasped.
"Mistress, what is happening to you!" Gaia cried.
"I have not told you that once I trained you, and made you this, I die," she choked out.
"You did not tell us this, Lady Kiana!" said Aedre fearfully.
"You would not have done it if I had," she gasped. "Listen to me, all of you." Her brown eyes burned with the same fire as always.
"You are the last, do you understand? The last of the elementalists. This is your world. You must cleanse it ... or we are all doomed. Do you -" Kiana inhaled painfully, trembles wracking her body. "Do you understand?"
"Yes Lady," murmured Aira, tears sliding down her cheeks. Kiana clenched Maia's hand.
"Promise me," she said quietly. "Promise me you - you will save this world. This is your world. You are the queens. You will end this. Promise me," she insisted.
"Yes, Mistress," said Gaia quietly.
"Yes, Teacher," said Aithne.
"We promise," said Aedre.
"We promise, Queen of Illusion," they said quietly together. "We promise ... Mother."
Kiana took a deep breath. She had been alive five centuries. Now, the unnatural youth that kept her alive, the strange blood that flowed through her veins, were turning against her, becoming a poison to her shuddering body.
"Go," she whispered. "I know you can do it. Take the vials. Save our world."
"Don't leave us," pleaded Maia. "We need you!"
"No," said Kiana. A ghost of a smile played across her features. "You are ready."
A strange look came into her eyes. "I will see my sisters again. The other elementalists."
She looked at them. "Don't be sad. Don't grieve. It was meant to be."
Then, with a last, shuddering breath, Kiana took her last breath. Her body slumped. It was the same features - but the spirit, the fire that had been Kiana, was gone. Her body shimmered and rippled. For a blink of a moment, she was wearing what Maia wore, the garb of the Illusionists. And then, she was gone.
Gaia took a rattling breath, her long caramel colored hair playing against her back.
"She's gone."
Aedre, oldest of them all, put a hand against her back, and curled another hand around Maia's small one.
"It'll be all right," she murmured. A single tear trickled down her cheek. They sat their together, huddled there for much time until the tears stopped. Slowly, the got to their feet. They linked hands, Aedre, then Gaia, then Aira, then Aithne, and last, Maia. Together, they walked out into the breaking dawn.
The soft, once gray sky was stained with pinks, pale blues, yellows, and purples. The five of them faced the rising sun, and lifted their linked hands up into the air.
It would be a long, hard, terrible journey, perhaps. But they would always have each other. They would stay strong, for Kiana.
It was meant to be.
Standing there, each girl swore a silent oath. To not let her down. To save the human race.
We'll make you proud.
And together, hands linked, the girls walked out of the shelter the small room had provided them, and stepped into the light.


- S. P. Kumar

Thursday, June 5, 2014

The Specter of Middlecombe Woods

Hi everyone!
So, this is another Creative Writing story [I know I post a lot of them]. Our prompt was your worst nightmare, except it’s real. I wrote about a girl named April’s worst nightmare. I know the ending is kind of abrupt, but it would have been too long without that ending.
Thank you so much for reading my book and these stories, and I hope you like this new one! Please comment!
-S. P. Kumar
  
   Feet pounding against the hard, tight-packed ground, her breaths came in short, sharp pants. Her long, waist-length caramel colored hair whipping around her face, her almond shaped, dark brown eyes wide with fear. Her ripped white nightgown whipping around her knees. That was her world now. April didn’t care about the sharp stones tearing into the soles of her bare feet. She didn’t care about the sticks that jabbed their points, stripped of bark, into her shins. All she cared about was getting away.
Part of her still thought this was a nightmare. That soon she’d wake up.
Running was too rhythmic, the steady pounding of her feet creating a crazy cacophony, a mad harmony that rushed in time with the pounding of her pulse. She didn’t glance back. She couldn’t stand to look at it.
Images from the past few crazy hours flickered past her vision, tinged at the edges with red mist. She had just been settling into bed, when her house had … exploded. The force of the blast had thrown her to the ground. Summer, her older sister, her mother, and father had been right there, when the wall of fire was roaring up. Her father had pushed her and her sister.
“Run!” he roared. “RUN!”
“Mom!” she had screamed.
“Daddy!” her sister cried.
“Go! I love you!” yelled her Mom. “We’re coming. So they had ran, and she had seen her mother and father run, only to get claimed by the flames. And from this wall of destruction – the specter had risen.
She was a dark, fearsome being, composed of white smoke. She looked about April’s age, sixteen. Her long, perfectly straight hair had fanned out around her, the white tendrils snaking out around her, past her waist. Her long, fluttery dress, torn around the edges, fanned out, the long tendrils touching everything. As the long swathes of fabric touched things, they burst into flames. April screamed, because the worst thing was … if she had been drained of color, a white specter, the ghost could easily be … her.
“Run!” Summer yelled. “I’m right behind you, April, go!” April, hating herself, had run for her life. At the edge of Middlecombe woods, she had turned back, just in time to see the specter’s white, ghostly hands touch Summer, running for her life.
Summer had just … disappeared into thin air as the specter laughed, Summer’s straight waist-length blonde hair and bright blue eyes fading into nothing, her last scream carrying on the wind. April had screamed again, a long, drawn out scream.
Now there was only running. The specter’s voice echoed behind her, a mocking voice.
“Come, now, April, do you really wish to play games of hide and seek?” The specter’s voice echoed mockingly out of the trees. “You can run, April, but you can’t hide. I will always be here.”
“Who are you?” whispered April.
The specter laughed, cold, high and cruel. “I am the Specter of Middlecombe Woods, April. But when I lived, my name was Winter.”
“No,” gasped April, a stich in her side from running.
Winter was her mother’s older sister. When Winter had been sixteen and her Mom fourteen, there had been a terrible fire. The first fireman had ran out with Mom. Autumn. But the second fireman hadn’t been able to reach Winter. She had died in the fire.
“Autumn was always the perfect child,” said the specter, her voice thick with disgust. “I swore when I died I would haunt her, and kill her. It was her fault I died. She was always so perfect. So, of course, perfect Autumn gets saved and pretends to cry for her lost sister. She should have died that day! Not me! I was always better, always more beautiful, always smarter, always the best! But no one acknowledged that! Oh, no, they all loved Autumn. Ugly, stupid Autumn!”
“Please!” screamed April. “Please, that isn’t my fault! Please just leave me alone!”
“Oh, but I can’t!” cackled the specter. “Once you are dead, April, Autumn’s youngest daughter, my revenge will finally be complete!”
“Please,” begged April. Every breath made her lungs feel like they were on fire, her thighs ached. Then, the specter was right behind her, the long, perfectly straight strands of ghostly hair swirling around her as her scary white eyes bored into April’s face.

“Goodbye, April!” she snarled. And then her white fingertips touched April’s face. It was icy cold, as if her entire body was made of ice or snow, and she was falling, falling, falling through the earth, blackness enveloping her, and April was in her mother’s arms again.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Toothpaste


Hi everyone! So this is another assignment for Creative Writing class. We each got an object and it had to be significant in our story. Most people got something like jewelry or a rock, or candy, but I got toothpaste. Anyway, I ended up having a really good time writing the story, and here it is! I hope you like it!
P.S. - By the way, in case you were wondering I did get a limit on page count, it was three pages.


Guinivere stared at the box. It was small, made of dark wood with golden clasps and fittings. Her mother’s box. Linnet Stone.
Four years ago, her mother had died of cancer. Always trying to make her laugh, her mother had joked and smiled, never letting on how much pain she was in. Guinivere remembered the last days, when she had peered into her mother’s eyes, but seen nothing of her mother. That had terrified her, the glassy look in Mom’s eyes. And finally, the roses, the tears, the I’m so sorry for your loss, as the coffin was lowered into the ground, as people tried to make condolences. It would never work.
Her mother had given her the box. This is yours, my princess. Only promise me one thing. Promise me, princess, she had said. Promise me you will not open it until you are sixteen. On your sixteenth birthday.
So Guinivere had promised. Her mother had sighed in relief.  It had seemed so important to her that Guinivere didn’t have the heart to refuse. Her Mom had been the one who was always there. Mom had always been the one who gave her a warm hug when kids were mean to her, and baked brownies on Sunday afternoons.
Guinivere glanced into the mirror. She wished she looked like her mother, with long, lush dark brown hair and matching eyes that radiated a kind, gentle demeanor, a tall, commanding figure. She always wished she was like her mom, could move with the same easy grace and exude the same confidence. But Guinivere had rich, dark red hair, such a truly red color that people often wondered if she had dyed it, and vivid green eyes. She was small and slender with a splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Sighing, Guinivere realized she had to open it or she would always wonder. She slid the nail of her finger along the box and up to the beautiful gold clasp. She slid her nail under, and flicked it up, unlatching the clasp. Slowly, slowly, slowly, she pushed the box opened.
Two objects lay within. The first was a beautiful little bracelet, made of glossy, midnight blue gems, the bracelet her mother had always worn. It seemed wrong, somehow, that Mom hadn’t been buried with it. She had never seen Mom without that bracelet.
The second was a fat to the bursting tube of … Toothpaste. It was Colgate, a shiny white tube, with blue writing on the side. She uncapped the tube and smelled it. She smelled the sharp scent of mint, cutting deep. It smelled like her Mom when she hugged Guinivere, and promised that life always got better.
Guinivere noticed something. Under the tube of toothpaste was a thickly folded note. She pulled it out and unfolded it, relishing the feel of her Mom’s best creamy writing paper against her skin.
My dearest Guinivere,
I imagine you are very angry with me right now, or perhaps very sad. I apologize for these vague instructions, but as you know now, I have very little time left.
Guinivere, you must put the bracelet about your wrist, then eat a bite from the toothpaste. Every day it will give you a new power, the power you need to survive, because as soon as these stones touch your wrist, you become The Protectress. Also, when the gems come in contact with your skin, you are a target by The Others, who want control of the bracelet, want our family line’s powers to be there’s. You should know this now, I did not die from cancer. It is a poison invented by The Others, and it mimics the effects of cancer. It is a slow, painful death.
Guinivere, know now that you are not a normal girl. You are a princess, descended from King Arthur and Queen Guinivere. Before Arthur went to battle against Lancelot, his former best friend and first of The Others, he gave Guinivere the tube, a gift from the sorcerer Merlin. He told her it would protect her. When Guinivere was infected, she passed the tube to her daughter, and so it has gone down, Mother to daughter. Now, my princess, you must hide. You must use the tube every day, and most important of all, you must run, my darling daughter. Your father can never know of this. You must run, and one day, find a place to settle down, and when you feel the effects of the poison, lock away the bracelet and tube in the box. If you keep wearing the bracelet and eating the toothpaste, they will be stolen. You must protect it. You are now The Protectress. Take the bracelet. Eat the toothpaste.
Run, princess. I love you. You must run, princess. Run. You may hate me now. If it was my choice, I would have never put such a burden on your shoulders.
My princess. Guinivere.
Eat the toothpaste. Run princess. I love you. I believe in you.
I trust you, and I hope someday, you will be greater than me in every way.
A poor Happy Birthday, is it not princess? The last time I tell you, I love you, darling, and I am so proud of the young woman you have become.
­­- Mom
Guinivere stood stock still in her bedroom. She looked out the window. Weak gray dawn light came and the sun was beginning it’s slow rise. She checked her clock. It was four o’ clock. She had been up so early, agonizing over the box.
Guinivere slipped the polished, midnight blue gems over her wrist, and slid the golden hooks together, closing it on her wrist.
Eat the toothpaste, then run princess. I love you. The thoughts echoed in her mind. I love you, her mother had said. My princess. She didn’t need to put that.
Tears sparked in her vivid eyes, and spilled down her cheeks, heaving, gasping sobs.
She had to listen to her mother. Guinivere took a shaky breath, air rushing into her lungs.
She closed her eyes, eyelashes brushing her cheek ever so slightly.
Guinivere hugged her pillow, and stared at the fat tube of toothpaste. She cried.
Why?
She lifted the tube, and slowly uncapped it again. She squeezed a tiny dollop onto her finger, took a deep breath, and placed it on her tongue.
She almost spat it out, not because it tasted bad, but because the taste was so unexpected for a tube of toothpaste. It was something Guinivere had not tasted in four years. It was the chocolatey brownies her Mom baked, with gooey melted chocolate chips, best eaten warm with a scoop of ice-cream. It felt like her Mom was hugging her tight, promising everything would be okay again.
Guinivere looked down, and gasped. There was nothing there. She was … invisible.
“No way,” she breathed. Her own voice wasn’t heard. She took a deep breath, and screamed. No sound came out.
“Wicked,” she whispered … but no sound came out. It was a sign.
Guinivere rose, and grabbed her favorite bag, an embroidered maroon one, that had a flap that buckled down. It turned invisible when she held it. She tossed in folded clothes, sweaters, hats, and gloves her Mom had given her. Warm clothes and summer clothes. She crept down to the kitchen, and tossed in some food. She grabbed all the emergency cash they had, feeling a little bad about taking it, but knowing she needed it. She disabled the alarms and stood poised at the front door, her feet bouncing slightly. She stared at her sneakers for a minute, then stared at the dark road.
She knew she might not survive The Others, whoever they were. She wasn’t sure if she could do it. She might die, and not be able to give the toothpaste and bracelet to her child.
But she also knew that she had to do this, for her mother.
Run, princess. I love you. I believe in you, princess.
I trust you, and I hope someday, you will be greater than me in every way.
She needed to do this. She knew in her heart, she could.
Guinivere ran down the road, her white converse thumping against the hard, unyielding blacktop, her maroon bag swinging.
The road before her would be hard, that much she knew. But as long as she had her mother’s love, her mother’s belief, she knew she could do anything. She glanced down at the cool, polished gems lying against her the curve of her wrist, golden clasp shimmering.
I love you too Mom. I’ll make you proud.
Guinivere didn’t stop running. And she didn’t look back.

4:11 AM

Hi everyone! So in my school, we have Yearbook as an elective, and in third trimester, Yearbook turns into Creative Writing! We had a prompt to write a story with our assigned number. Our number had to be the title, and the word count. I think the reason we get word counts or page counts now is because the first assignment we got, I wrote 75 pages! Anyways, here’s my story. My number is 411, and the title doesn’t count in the word count! I hope you like it!

I stare at my motionless sister. Hope's hair streams over the crisp white pillow, like a river of golden honey. The strands are fine, soft, and straight. When she hugged me, those strands felt like a curtain shielding me from the world. She would promise everything would be all right.
Perhaps that is the most cruel joke of all.
An unnatural pallor is in her cheeks, normally glowing and rosy, full of life. How can this be my sister?
We got the call at home. Hope had gone over to a friend’s house. A drunk driver slammed into her tiny, run-down car on her way home.
It was his fault. So why is Hope lying here, close to … death? Why not him?
I don't hear the doctor's commands, as they work around me. I don't hear my mother's wails.
But I hear, louder than a shout, as the last, feeble breath escapes Hope's lips. I hear the beep as the line on the heart monitor falls flat - just as the minute hand swings. 4:11.
"No!" I scream, shaking her shoulders, futilely pleading. "Please, Hope! Wake up! Hope!"
My father stands by me. Tears streak down his face. I am afraid, because I have never seen my father cry before. “Sky. It’s … it’s too late.”
"No!" I scream. "Tell him he's wrong, Mama! Hope! Please, wake up!"
But my mother turns away from me, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
"No," I whisper. I look into my sister's face, studying it, memorizing every detail I know so well. How can she look so different in death? Her face is pallid now. Her eyes, always so bright, sparkling with laughter, are shut, the long gold lashes just barely brushing her cheek. I have never spent a day without my sister. We never had sibling rivalry - the two year age gap was nothing to us. We were best friends. I study the tiny details you wouldn't normally notice, the light brown freckle by the corner of her left eye, the nails kept rounded with a file, the way that her eyes slant slightly, giving a catlike impression. She was always bursting with energy, so alive. Come back to me. I need you.
There is no one in the world I loved like Hope.
There is no one I will ever love like I loved her.
4:11. That is when my sister died.
4:11. That is when part of me died.

4:11.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

The Colors I Saw

Like I said in an earlier blog, I live really close to the ocean, and I love the sea, or even just water in general. I love swimming, even though I’m not very good at it, unlike some of my friends. One of the things I love most about the sea is all the colors, so I try to write poetry about it, because I love poetry almost as much as I do writing stories. Anyway, here it is. This poem is called The Colors I Saw. I hope you like it, and please comment! I’d love to hear what you think!


Once upon the time, when the world was young, my grandfather told me
Look out, child, upon the ocean blue
And look at it with eyes young and untainted, and true
And tell me
All the colors you see
And I told him: I see the white-capped waves as they break on the shore
And the turquoise calm of the bay, and the azure of the tide pools, and many more
I see the candy colored sails of the little fishing boats, where they run
And the deep, impenetrable blue of the deep sea, dancing with the yellow of the sun
I see a deep green calm, where no humans go
The pink of the jellyfish, plastic-y green of the seaweed waving to and fro
And yellow, and pink, and blues from the fat fish who dart
The white sands swirling at the clear bottom always gives me a start
The ivory oysters, which lie on the seafloor like the pearls they mill
And the red of the blood from when a shark made its kill
I see the smooth slick gray of a dolphin tail
And the deep blue spout of a humpback whale
The baby pink of a starfish
The gleam of an oyster’s pearl, I’ve heard if you have one you can make a wish
And many more colors, too many to count
As I look out on the seashore, the number my eyes perceive amounts
What about you grandfather, what colors do you see?
- S.P. Kumar

The Colors of the Sunset in Paradise

Hi! This is another poem I wrote just for fun. I live close to the ocean, and the sunset always looks incredibly beautiful, so I thought I’d try capturing it in a poem one day.
It’s called The Colors of the Sunset in Paradise. I hope you like it!



As the sun dipped low
Over the mountains, just a faint glow
I swept my brush across the sky
And blended, mixed, and painted colors, on the fly
And then the sky stained with the colors of my sun brush
The colors, sharp, vivid, beautiful, as the song of a meadow thrush
Gold, pink, pale blue, red
Purple, orange, fiery yellows, and upon the fringes, the color of plain gray lead
But the gray blue of the sky, I had once thought so beautiful
Seemed paltry at the sight of this sunset, incredibly wonderful
The colors mixed and blended
To powerful oceans, majestic mountains, and placid lakes, beauty was added
The colors stained and merged together
I looked back once, so I would remember forever

The colors of the sunset in paradise

-S.P. Kumar