And This Is What My Pen Wrote Down

Crocodile in our Swamp!

2012-06-14T14:31:00.000-07:00

Part of the Obz Kids Short stories, loosely based on own experiences from life at the SAAO :)

There was a crocodile in the swamp. “Surely, that cannot be normal,” Jana had thought to herself as she raced across the compound with the rest of her surprised neighbours. Her parents had assured her and her brother Mike before their move to South Africa that it was completely civilized.

“No grass skirts and mud huts?” Mike had asked. He had seemed disappointed when the answer was negative, but Jana had breathed a sigh of relief. But now this; wild life on their fenced in compound.

Some people had already gathered on the side of the swamp, chattering amongst themselves and pointing out into the mud-sludge water. Jana decided that this could not be an everyday occurrence since the people were so intrigued, and for this, she was grateful. She saw Mike and went up to him.

“Where is it?” She asked. He pointed towards the middle of the swamp. The crocodile, the color of the murky water, was barely visible. Only the top of his snout and head were above water, but his big yellow eyes were as conspicuous as a peacock on an iceberg. “How did it get here?” That was the question on everyone's lips. It did not move, it just kept its eyes trained on them, as if daring them to do something.

The longer they stood there waiting for something to happen, the more the tension increased. And with tension came suspicion. Short attention spans became evident as speculation grew. Who told us about this in the first place? And where is that prankster of a girl, Shila? Finally, Mike threw a golf ball that landed near the crocodiles head. It didn’t even flinch. He threw another one and it bounced right off the nose. The head bobbed up and down in the waves. Mike rolled up his pants and waded in. Everyone started giving their two cents worth on the fact personally that they had thought it unnatural from the moment they had seen it. Of course, Jana thought, they’re all probably trying to hide the fact that they already had the animal rescue services on speed dial. Mike was back out of the swamp with the crocodile. It was only the head, and it was made out of Styrofoam. As Jana turned homewards something made her look up into the nearby tree. Almost five meters above her and quite neatly camouflaged sat a girl looking down at the dispersing crowd, and it was evident that her gleeful laughter was barely contained. Shila.

Dreams

2012-03-17T12:53:00.005-07:00

One of my favorite poems, written March 2010. I also performed this one for a poetry reading in Drama :)

I love to go to bed in the evenings-

To close my eyes and go to sleep.

Into my thoughts, memories and wishes...

Their in my head, you know, buried deep.

Subconsiously I spin them into stories.

Stories filled with mystery-

Action and Romance

Stories that I wish would happen to me.

But they don't.

And so, I am left with my dreams

I can do whatever I want

BE whatever I want,

And no one will ever know.

I can fly and chase the clouds

I can be in the middle of a war

I can spend weeks, with him, on a desolate shore

But once I wake up?

No one knows no more.

When things go bad

I can escape

From bullies at school

To a forest landscape.

My dreams are amazing, and special, you see

Because I am with anyone

And can do anything

But once I wake up?

No one will know what I did.

But me

There is something sad about living in a dream though, don't you think? If everything was make believe with no one real to share the experiences with...

:)

Introduction

2012-03-17T11:56:00.000-07:00

I used to dream of writing long novels with complex characters and twisting multi-layered plots, but life seemed opposed to letting me ever finish one.

I used to lie awake at night if I hadn't written something down. The sentences would construct and organise, then break down and re-organise, on the canvas of my mind until I gave up, switched the light back on, took out my pen and wrote them down. This would keep me awake for hours sometimes, but most often in the end I was extremely satisfied with the outcome of my writing.

I used to wait for months to see if I got published somewhere, or to show my work to people, but now I realised that I can just as easily publish my short stories and poems in a blog, no matter if they are unpolished or half done... Just to see how they survive in the real world.

Sometimes when I am reading something intruiging, or I see something interesting, or hear something fascinating, I get an urge to write. I can't do anything about it. And in those moments, this is what my pen wrote down.

Enjoy :)