Trisphee - Jibber-jabber?

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- - Jibber-jabber? (http://www.trisphee.com/forums/showthread.php?t=517)

School puts stress on me so my thoguhts go jumble mumble and nothing ever seems good. -sighs-
-hides away, starting to get disappointed with her self- <o<;
-goes to uplaod more photos on dA- At least something I don't judge my self for much, lol.

I haven't had a teacher assign me fiction to write since... eight grade?

That's six years.

All of my writing assignments were for essays.

Well, I tell a lie. I took a creative writing class, but the writing pieces weren't assigned. It was just "write a poem" and you wrote a poem.

I loved that class. But I can't seem to motivate myself to write in my free time, or stop writing in my head and start putting it on paper.

I actually have a few pieces of my writings from High school that survived being in my gaia journal. I have one that I wrote after one of the standardized testing things.

The bodies of my fallen brothers littered the battlefield. The dry soil of this wasteland absorbed their blood with a great thirst. Enemy shots still tore through the air, bullets struck the ground near my feet.
An allied jet flew from behind us, toward the enemy strong hold, an explosion soon followed when a missile made contact on the base. The enemy fire had ceased for a moment, until a rookie soldier let out a cheer, only to join the list of K.I.A. when a sniper shot made impact on his forehead.
The remaining troops of our platoon took cover, with an enemy sniper our lives was in their hands. Soon the ground shook, entering the battle from or line was the piece of equipment that would tip the scales of battle in our favor. It shot the large explosive toward the resistant army. Smoke flooded the ground from the shot.
The sound of the tank rolling forward covered the sound of gunfire. When the dust began to settle, the rookie's corpse caught my eye. It was in the path of the tank's treads. I reached out to pull his body out of the path when a sharp, burning pain tore through my left shoulder. My rifle fell to the ground, the wound stung with the gathering of sweat and dirt settled within.
The tank stopped rolling, it's cannon turned to the direction of where the shot had came from. A shot from the long barrel left a small crater within the ground beneath us. Hoping the shot connected with the sniper, I reached out with my right hand to grasp the fallen brother by the collar. With my left arm currently detained, I had to push with my legs to retrieve the corpse.
I had saved the boy's body for the box trip home. The tank had moved closer to the enemy base when the scales tipped back into their favor. The large piece of equipment exploded. A mine had been triggered, resulting in the destruction of the machine, and death of two soldiers.
Our numbers were falling quickly, while theirs seemed to double. Radio silence broke, the order to retreat had been sent. Only thing harder than combat was trying to run from it. Our troops began to take off towards where we had been dropped off, expecting to see our rescuers on the heliport. It was there, for what seemed to be an eternity while I was running to it, with the rookie soldier's corpse over my shoulder.
Suddenly I had fallen, due to a great force against my back. When I managed to look back towards the chopper, it had already began to take off. Other soldiers that had not been able to reach it stood idly by, until the bullet fire struck them, the enemies had followed us. Then the worst thing occurred, the departing helicopter was struck by a bazooka shot. It burst into flames and fell with an explosion.
My eyes searched for other allied troops. They found none living. I crawled to a large boulder, to conceal myself from the enemies' sight, for the time being. The rookie's body laid only a few meters from me, he was on his chest. I saw what had knocked me down. Bullet holes covered the rookie's back, it had acted like a shield for me. A quote I had read when I was younger flashed through my mind, "A dead man's gift only leads me to suffering," and it soon came true. June 26, 2012, has been named the worst day of my life.
The only thing I remember after seeing the rookie's body, was the enemy soldiers rushing around the fallen troops, taking their equipment and dog tags, only giving them a bullet in their head in exchange. Then the enemy troop yelled something, I can't remember what, probably something about me being alive, followed by me being struck in the face with the butt of his rifle. I awoke in this dark, death stench room.

Oh my gosh, how can such pretty flower be called something so creepy as hydrangea? =0= It make think of some... I don't know, sickness. >o>

I... am not going to post my writing here. xD

I'm sure no one cares.

also:

vBulletin exceeded its bandwidth, eh?

Oh. I suppose that's a good for a story of such theme.
Funny as it is, it was Twilight that inspired me to try first person writing and I actually like it. The first person view, not the Twilight, I mean. XD
I like to get too much in the head of my characters which seems weird in 3rd person, but normal in 1st. I like to look at the world trough their eyes, literally. I suppose it's harder that way, but I still like it.

Me cares, Plushie!

-won't show hers because it wouldn't make sense without whole chapter posted and that's too long and it's kinda crappy- >o<;
-so shall stop talking about her experiences, too-

I can post an old poem-thing I tried to retranslate recently, though.

Twilight is something I'll never put my hands on...

I like messing around with person/tense. One of my favorite things to do is make it seem like one person is narrating when that's not the case, or make it seem like the story is taking place in third-person when it's not, or the past when it's the present.

I took a creative writing class in college. I wanted to write genre fiction, but the class consisted of half poety and half realistic fiction. We were forbidden to write genre fiction. I was not impressed.

That's poop. And I just wont write poems. Eew. I don't hate them I just hate writing them myself.

That's cool, Plushie. O:

Ahaha, everyone was so into it, I had to see what's so great about it, so I can decide for my self. At first, it didn't seem so crappy, but it got worse and worse.... and so much worse I think it couldn't go further more. >o>

Aw, Sei. D:

We were allowed to write pretty much anything in my creative writing class.

My favorite piece was probably the flash-fiction piece I did.

It's like, a vague story in less than three hundred words that's supposed to shock the viewer at the end.

Also, I love poetry. :>

Poetry is such a forgiving medium. It can be anything you want it to be, and as long as you're not trying for one of the structured poetic styles, you can make you poem into whatever you wish and no one can tell you it's wrong. It might not flow correctly, it might be trite or dull, but it can't be wrong.

I just rather say what I think normally rather than making it some magical stuff.

I haven't been "taught" to write poetry, I just write down my thoughts and sometimes they turn out poem-like.
I promise to never post anything again, but this is the old poem-thing I talked about previously. x3
It has a melody too, in Latvian version. <o<; And probably tons of grammar/logic errors in English.

My poems would probably just sound like rants.