Travelling Bagel

bagel (2)

Yes this story now comes with its own cheesy looking picture. 

After my lovely vacation returning home seemed like a prison, where no one appreciated me for being a talking bagel. No one values me for the bagel I am, so I am going to go traveling. I will see the world and learn all about the different bagel cultures around the world.

Yes, I am heading off soon, so next time you hear from me I will some where exotic. I will be in some new place where people don’t tell me to shut up or think me less because I am a breakfast food.

I told my friends that I was going to go travel the world and learn all about the different bagels. They only laughed and told me, “You can’t travel the world you’re a bagel.”

I will show them though. I will go and experience life.

This Was Written By A Bagel.

writing

Imagine for a moment going off and having a wonderful vacation. You lay on the beach for  days. You are free to do anything you want. The only thing you have to do is relax and have fun.

Well, I just had that vacation. It was a dream vacation. I was happy and it was as if the sun was shining just for me. I was warm and toasted from the sun with a big smile on my face.

After arriving home and unpacking I went out to meet my friends at the local bar where we hang out. I bounced over to say hello with my mind filled with wonderfully delightful stories to share with my friends. However, before I could say anything more than, “Hi guys.”

The guy with black hair and a beard shouted, “Shut up you’re a bagel!”

The group laughed and some one else chuckled out, “She’s a toasted bagel now.

I went, got myself a drink and waited for the laughter to die down. It did and by the end of the night I told one story about my vacation, which was really all I wanted to do.

To The Beach

writing

I took a walk today to give myself time to think. I walked down to  the beach, thinking inspiration will find me with my feet in the sand. Yet, even before I stood on the shore I was reminded of my mind and a muse came whispering in my ear. He said, “feel your feet on the rough ground below. The asphalt hurts the soles of your feet, right?” Yes, the road below me was rough and hard to walk on without any shoes being worn. Still, I walked on knowing that the rough road would make the soft sand feel that much better.

I got to the stairs that led to my destination of cooling sand on this wonderfully peaceful evening to find that the night had long-held claim over the steps. The darkness of this alley way was caused by the two homes that blocked any moonlight or street light from entering. Still I felt the each step on my way down knowing that once I turned the corner there would light once more.

Now, at the bottom with my feet in the sand and my eyes taking in the romantic moonlight, the ocean breeze blew cold. For a moment I thought it was too cold, but when my ears opened they heard the breeze creating a melody with the ocean’s waves crashing on the shore and the distant wind chimes singing like bells, I knew that no cold would be too much for this beauty. The breeze then felt fine and reminded me that my body was still hot from the workout at the gym. The wind became a comfort not a burden, calming me instead of shutting my senses down.

I walked along the dark shore keeping my senses aware but my mind was thinking. It realized that although the road was rough relief came. Although times were dark,I light was found around a corner. Finally, my mind realized that although it may seem like the wind is cold if you change your perspective something that seems like a burden can be a comfort.

 

Fingers

writing

My fingers want to dance on the keyboard and feel the story or poem pour out. They want to touch the words and sense the love that can be found within. Within each word there is love and there is hate. It is a battle that rages in each word. How do I use it right? What is the best word to use? How should I write? I must write the right way with the write words, but my fingers they just want to dance. They perform a ballet and then a waltz across the keyboard in the rhythm of my music.

Oh dance fingers dance and let my mind explore and explode with the background music. Show me what I think and how I feel. Shed light to the dark areas of my soul. Where I do not dare to go. Yes, fingers dance on and press the keys to write my own heart’s song with the notes being words  of the wordless song.

How I do enjoy when my fingers dance along  with the music that I hear. They become fairies beckoning me to a new world, or a familiar home.They show me a story that was locked in my mind, unless they decide to write a poem or a new melody. AS I sit they shine love like a n old friend and converse with my mind like a counselor.

Yes, I love when my fingers dance.

If you haven’t tried closing your eyes and writing whatever comes to mind as you listen to music with no vocals you should. That is what I did with this.

Let me know what you think.

For a Second Time I am A Bagel (short story)

writing

 

I am still a bagel living my bagel life. I wake up and go to work. I come home and some night I hang out with friends.

While sharing conversation and company with my closest friend a question about pain came up. My friend did not ask about sorrow or the pain that came from hardship. His question was more simple. “Can bagels feel pain?” He pondered out loud to the group.

I was off put a little by the idea that the thought even arose in his head. Of course bagel felt pain. Every living thing can feel pain in one way or another. I being a bagel physical feels pain when some one pokes me, squeezes me too tightly in their hands and when they start to cut into my sides. Every time a knife comes near I must declare that I am still living and beg them not to cut me open.

I also feel great emotional pain. I feel this deep sorrow when I see my people sold as slaves to become someone’s breakfast. My heart breaks when I see the joy of a monster biting down on an unfortunate bagel. As that monster bites down on their bagel my soul crumbles as it can feel the mashing and breaking of a fellow bagel.

I am lost in my thoughts of pain as my friends continue to ponder and had almost come to the conclusion that bagel could not feel any type of pain. It was at the conversation’s end that I told them that bagels could feel pain.

The did not believe me and one of the others changed the topic before much more could be said. I did not mind the change in conversation, since I did not want to explain to people who should have known that bagels feel pain.

It appears that this whole “I am a bagel” is starting to be a thing within my group of friends.  I am not fighting it and actually may start a video series about being a bagel. I just need to make/ get a bagel puppet. I say get because it’s just going to be a bagel with olive eyes and pretzel sticks for legs and arms. The friends of a bagel may be difficult to do though.

We shall see what happens with this. I am enjoying writing the short stories at least.

I Am A Bagel

writing

I have weird friends and I hope this will make them smile.

I am a bagel. My eyes are black olive stuck by toothpicks into my bagel head. My tongue is cream cheese. My legs and arms are pretzels.

“How do you talk?” “How can you type?” “How can you write?” “Why do you talk so very much?” “What is life like for a bagel like you?” These are the questions that I am continuously asked as I walk around with herbs for my hair.

I was riding in the car talking, enjoying the conversation between me and my friends when out of the blue for no reason I could tell the one in the passenger seat yelled, “Shut up! You’re a bagel.”

I was quite shocked and did not know how to react. I indeed was a bagel, but that had not stopped me from talking before. “Why?” I quietly asking hoping that I would not anger him more.

He simply laughed and laughed. Soon he was able to speak. “You’re a talking bagel.” He spoke as if he did not realize for the years we were friends that I was bagel who could not only talk but also walk and live an almost normal life.

“Yes, and,” was my reply all the while the drive sat quiet listening in on the short conversation.

He was amused by the realization that a bagel was talking to him, “How do you talk?”

I could not help but smirk as I answered, “With my mouth and with my tongue.”

“You are a bagel, though.”

“Yes, and you are human.”

The driver finally chirped in and said, “Seriously just shut up. You’re a bagel.”

With that last statement I kept my mouth shut and allowed the humans to talk as I sat in the back simply being a bagel.

A Scene inspired by Supernatural

writing

I am sure most of you will think this is fan fiction and guess what it is. I usually force myself to find my own story and really only be inspired by the television, movies or books I fall in love with. It has been a while though and I think it works best as fan fiction. If you don’t enjoy this little scene, I am sorry, I will go back to my poetry and original stories tomorrow. Today I am being a little fan girl.

Also if you are a fan of Supernatural reading this let me know what you think. I hope you are not expecting a script though, because script formatting is not how my brain thinks for the first draft on paper.

The scene opens with Sam and Dean standing in the bunker’s library area. Sam has an old book in his hand and there is a door drawn on one of the brick walls. Both of the boys are staring at the wall.

After a moment Dean states, “I thought you said it would work.”

Sam responses with, “Just give it a minute.”

As soon as Sam’s words are spoken there is a crash and burst off. The chalk door on the wall flashes like a bright strobe light three times and then all is dark again for split second. The lights come back on and there is a woman, almost as tall as the boys, clothed in every imaginable weapon. She has two large pistols drawn and pointed at the guys.

As soon as the three of them see each other, the woman swings around looking for any danger. When she sees all is  cleared she lowers her guns. “What the heck and how did you do that?”

Uncertain of what to say the two brothers look at each other before Sam answers, “We needed help and was actually thinking we would be summoning some one else.”

Sam’s remark noticeably offends the woman, “Of course you did.” She starts to point one of her pistols at Sam as she talks and tells him, “Well if you are all-powerful now, you can send me back, reverse your stupid summoning ritual. I have a vampire werewolf hybrid to kill.”

Dean smirks and says, “Hey lady, how about you calm down. We’re hunting the same thing. We should hunt it together.”

The woman now is pissed off, “Hey lady?”She starts to aggressively advance to Dean, “Hey lady?! Really Dean, do you want to be shot?”

Sam goes to his brother’s side and calmly tells her, “He meant nothing by it. We are just trying to hunt the same thing.”

Now both guns are pointed at the brothers, “Let me get this straight, you are hunting a vampire werewolf and decided not to call me on my phone to tell me that you now believe me. No, instead of admitting, once again that I was right, you decide,” She looks around to where she came from, “You decide to create a summoning door to summon someone else to hunt my monster?! Well, sorry if I am not happy when you two basically tell me I’m crazy and to go fight it myself then I get yanked back to the bunker when I am mid-fight.”

The two brothers stare at her as she waits for one of them to say something, anything. She waits to strike again. The boys just stand there confused, so she finally shouts, “Really. you’re going to just stand there and act dumb.”

“We’re not acting, so how about you put the guns down and explain from the top what you’re talking about.”

“Shove it, bitch.” The girl says and holsters her guns. She turns while walking towards the tables. The boys slowly follows. She sits on the table while the guys swing chairs around to sit down. She takes a deep breath. “Okay what were you actually summoning for?”

“Help, we need help with the vampire,” Sam started and corrected himself when he saw the woman’s clenched jaw, “with your monster.”

“And why didn’t you just call me, you knew I was on my way to fight it. Why didn’t you just let me in on your penis party?” The woman said and waited for a retort.

She childishly mouthed along with Dean, “It wasn’t a penis party.” Dean was a little taken back by her knowing what he would say. “Who are you?”

“Dean, now is not the time to play that game. You know ever since we were kids it was you two and dad training, while I was stuck with mom, grandpa and the books. Just answer my question. What happened to the phone saying, we’re idjits come back, so we can fight it together.”

Sam looked at her just as puzzled as Dean was. Sam asked her, “Who do you think we are?”

The woman who was not amused told them, “Seriously, I am not in the mood for games. If you made a summoning door just to grab me from a fight tell me and we’ll move on. I’ll moved out, but we’ll move on.”

The woman stood up and readied her self to leave or for one of the guys to stop her. It was Sam who spoke as she stood, “Our mom died when I was six months old.”

“Sammy, that is not funny.  You’re twisted.” She turned to walk out of the bunker, but before she could take a step she saw Castiel standing. “What?” She asked as she quickly rushed to take off her weapons. “How?” The sword that was hanging on her back was the first to leave her body, then the holsters with the two large guns, then the belt with assorted knives and two smaller guns. “I thought.” Next was the long sword that was around her waist along with the two sais that were strapped to her thighs. “We all thought you were.” She unwrapped throwing knives from her calves and then stood up. “There no more weapons.” She walked over to Castiel still rushed and without thinking hugged him tightly, “We all thought you were gone.”

When Castiel did not embrace her as tightly as she did, the woman pulled away. “Cas? What?”

“I am sorry, do I know you?”

The statement visibly hurt the woman. “Cas, look into my eyes and please tell me you know who I am?”

Castiel did as he was told, but could not lie. He could see that she wanted him to know who she was, but he did not, “I am sorry. I do not know who you are.”

“But you know them?”

Castiel nodded and the woman returned to her spot on the table severely defeated. “Guys, no joking, do you know who I am?”

Dean shook his head and Sam whispered, “No, do not.”

The woman kept her eyes down”Are you two the sons of John and Mary Winchester?”

Sam again answered for both of the brothers, “Yes.”

She looked up at Sam and asked, “Did you ever have a sister?”

“No, our mother died when I was six months old.”

With pain filled eyes she asked, “What killed her?”

Dean answered, “The yellow eyed demon.”

“The yellow eye demon? How dad tells.” She paused before correcting herself, “How my dad tells the story he was hardly a hunt. I mean it got Grandpa Samuel, but that was how dad told mom that he was a man of letters and how dad found out mom was a hunter. It was their first hunt together.”

“Your dad was a man of letters?” Sam asked.

“Your’s wasn’t?” She asked.

Sam told her, “Our grandfather, Henry, died before he could tell our dad. “

“Was it when he time traveled to the future to fight Abaddon?”

Dean looked at her, “How did you know?”

“Because you two jerks told me to wait in the car. You said it was too dangerous and you did not need me. I didn’t listen and killed that bitch. Grandpa went home and told dad to name me after him.”

Dean paused and asked”Wait what’s your name?”

“Henrietta.”

“How old are you?” Sam asked.

“27.”

Sam smiled and told Dean, “Mom lived for another four years.”

“My mom died 10 years ago. She lived until I was 17. “

Dean asked, “How?”

Henrietta answered, “Saving our lives.” She then looked straight into Castiel’s eyes and told him, “If you’re brother is pulling anything or playing with me in any way, I will kill him.”

Sam stood up from his chair and patted Henrietta  on the knee, “I could use some coffee before we go on this hunt. Heni do you want any.”

Dean looked at Sam a little confused. Henrietta also looked at Sam but she was a little taken back, “Did you just call me Heni?”

“Yeah, I guess I did. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just that is your nickname for me.”

Dean laughed and asked, “Heni, like a chicken?”

Henrietta looked at Dean with a blank face and told him one word, “Don’t.”

“So, chicken do you want coffee.”

“You know it seems like so much is different but you are still a tool.” She shook her head with a slight smile and got up. “I think I’ll need something before this hunt.” As the four of them walked  towards the kitchen she mentioned, “We can figure out what’s what while we drink.”

Castiel made sure to walk next to Henrietta and asked, “Why did you take off all your weapons before hugging me.”

“My Cas doesn’t or well didn’t like weapons. He said he came to bring guidance not violence. You would still smite any one that needed it. Honestly I just think all those weapons made it uncomfortable to get close.”

With that they leave the library area of the bunker and go to the kitchen to drink coffee while they discuss their plans to hunt a vampire werewolf hybrid. They leave figuring out Henrietta until after the murderous monster is taken care of.

 I do have a whole detailed back story for Henrietta, but if you missed the major points; Henrietta is the boys’ sister from an alternate time line or universe. In her time line their mother fights the Yellowed eyed demon when she first meets him and kills him. He kills her father, but the demon brings her and John together. John knows about hunting and supernatural things because his father never died in the battle with Abbadon. Henrietta saved him and he was able to raise john as one of the last Men of letters, which helped him help Mary fight the Yellow eyed demon. 

John and Mary raised all three of their kids as hunters and men of letters. However, John was more protective of his little girl and tried to keep her in the bunker, which had been their home for most of their. Since their father was protective of the only girl in the family the brothers were also overly protective of her. Still she did train and was actually pushed to train harder than the guys, since she had something to prove. 

Okay I can go on and on about this character. I am liking her and keep trying to put her in a story of her own, but in my mind she is so tangled up in Supernatural that I can’t.

Any ways,  This is all I can do for tonight. If you ask I will explain more or write another short story about her, but for now it is off to bed for me.

 

200th post… celebration

encouragement

That quote seems to fit this moment. I just published my 200th blog post. It seems fitting to talk about the journey and how much I have changed in the 200 posts. I will try to make it interesting and not lame.  I am going to be going through the old posts that I made. Hopefully  I find a good sampling.

This blog started as an outlet for my reviews. I had an idea that I would watch and review over 300 movies. I mean I had reviewed a few movies for a class I had taken in college, so I should be able to right 300 hundred of them. I did give myself 6 years to complete it and I still have a few years before that is up. I still have the list, but my life will have to dramatically change to find time to write reviews.

I also started this blog, because I did not think I would have any other outlet for my love of movies and entertainment. I did not think a ‘real career’ in the entertainment industry was an attainable dream. Now, it may still be far off, but I don’t believe it is unattainable. It will take hard work, struggle, time and sacrifice, but I can do it. That is why I started to write the DreamWard Bound series. I honestly believe my creativity will one day be my only job.

Next, I added Story Time With Pink Sunshine. It was supposed to be short stories that could be transformed into chapters in a book. I did not get very far with that, though. It was a big story with lots of details to write. I still plan to tell this story. It will always be in my heart yearning to get out, but I will a solid amount of time to actually write it out.

It seems with the starting of Story Time I started to branch out with my creativity on this blog. I started to write poems,  updates, thoughts, and even a few short stories. It seems like once I gave myself freedom to do anything on this blog I did do anything. I have grown with this blog in my creativity and have changed my life, because a few people read my writings and my thoughts.

It may still be a small blog, but hey I wrote 200 posts and I am pretty sure each one was read by some one. I think that is enough minds touched to celebrate and change your life a bit for. So, thank you for taking this journey with me and if you want to compare my journey through my creativity I will leave you a few links that you can compare.

 

First poetry.

First Poem Post (Dream of plans)

Last Poem I posted (Poetry Of Words)

Short Stories

First One (My Testimony)

Last Short Story I Posted (Free Lobster)

Funny both are true stories

Review:

First (Amelie)

Last (Lost Colony)

Updates / talking about what was going on in my life

First (All My Projects)

Last (This Past week’s DreamWard Bound)

Okay I am done boring you with lists. Let me know what you think though. Can you see the change?

 

 

Free Lobster (A short Story)

writing

You woke up tired with a headache. Yes, it is ten in the morning, but you don’t want to get out of bed. It is cloudy, cold, and sad outside your bed. You stay in bed there for a bit longer which grows into another hour in bed. That is when you drag yourself out of bed, slowly make it down to your kitchen. The  coffee pot fights with you and the pancakes you are making take longer than you want. Once your meal is ready you watch one of your favorite television shows even though you know you have things to do. You tell your self, “It’s Saturday, it is okay to relax.”  The show ends and you now have to rush to get ready.

It’s ten minutes after noon and you are out the door. You drive towards the beach and hope that there is a fire pit available, since your friend has told you to be there before noon to get the fire pit. You arrive at the beach and smile. There is one pit left. You did not fail and even had a nice morning.

You walk the long beach to the one pit without the clutter of people and their things. It is not until you are near it that you see why it is abandoned without a person to claim it. Sand from the beach was piled into it until the sand created a table top. There was no room for fire or anything else besides the sand.

Now, do you sit and claim the pit no one wanted or take your chance that some one will leave by the time your church has its gathering.  You decide to stay and ask a friend to bring a shovel. You then ask another and another,  until someone finally has a shovel in a town where hardly anyone uses a shovel.

Once you have a plan you sit and relax.You take out your kindle to read a book. That is when you realize you kindle only has 20 percent of its battery left. You read the book trying to ignore the fact that the battery is draining. It drains fast and soon the computerized voice tells you so. You read on hoping to get farther in the book that you are just now getting attached to. Finally the battery is too far into the red for your liking so you turn it off.

As the wind blows and you start to get chilled. You are now thankful that you have a pair of leggings to go under your skirt and a cardigan to go over your tank top. As you wrap your self up a young lady walks over with a shovel in her hand. She tells you that you can use the shovel to which you respond with a grateful, “Thank you,” as your leg gets stuck in your legging and you fall over. With a smile you accept the shovel and start to dig out the fire pit.  It does not take long before a fire get fit.

After returning the shovel you sit and wait. You look at your phone to see what is going on in the world and see that you still have hours before the person with the wood will show up and another hour before the fire is supposed to actually start. There is a notebook and Bible in your duffle bag.

The  notebook is what is taken from your bag, but nothing besides a few lines in the shape of the beach’s life guard station is drawn on the pages. Not a single word is written before you put it back in the yellow and blue plaid duffle bag.

There is more waiting and people watching. A few people ask you, “Are you saving the fire pit?” They ask as if there would be another reason your blue sheet is stretched out next to the fire pit in question. A woman looking for a pit for a sixteen year old’s birthday party comes by, but their gathering is happening at the same time and with a large amount of people. Still more people ask you if you are saving the pit that should be obvious that you are saving and that you dug out.

Around three o’clock an older gentleman who looks as if he tries to stay healthy walks over. “Is there anyway we can share this pit?”

You tell him something along the lines that it may be possible and the two of you start to figure out if it actually is. Once it is decided that your parties will not clash it is decided that you will share the pit that you have saved for almost 3 hours with this doctor man. That is when he tells you that he will share his meal with you. For a moment you want to tell him it’s not necessary, but before you can he tells you what he is cooking. He and his doctor friends bought lobster, red beautiful lobster. The seafood that belongs to the other coast. The shellfish that your home has, the delicious food that you have not had in the shell for a long time.

He then leaves to get his things and your roommate shows up. She talks about her day and you tell her about what just happened. The guy comes back and you talk to him a little but mostly focus on the roommate that has joined you.

More doctors and their spouses come trickling towards the fire. Soon their fire is going and they are finding amusement in cooking their lobster. You do not want to intrude, so you talk and focus on your roommate and her friend that shows up.

Your roommate does not stay for too long though. She needs to eat something, so once the lobster is almost done she leaves. You are than called over to be one of the first to enjoy the amazing food that they prepared.  One man, that is about your age, so around late twenties or early thirties  asks you if you need help as you crack the arms off and dislocate the tail for the head. You both smile as he realizes you know what you are doing. Still you let him help you cut the shell. The other cut the shells off the other lobsters which seems so foreign to you. What about the crackers that squeezes the  shell until it breaks?

You figure they had their way of doing it and you had your way. Everyone is enjoying themselves and you are having free lobster with good people. No matter what happens from that point on, you had free lobster because you shared what you could.

 

This is a true story about my last Saturday.

Flowing Thoughts of a Poetic Mind

writing

I’m going to let my thoughts flow out. I hope you do not mind the random ramblings of a lone dreamer, lost in her own heart. It was tightened up for so long that I grew to really miss it. I tried to feel it and share it but my heart was locked far away among the elastic bands of stress and worried. Chained behind what other people said and did around me.  My heart was bolted down to the walls of my consciousness, just beyond my reach, where I could not free it.

Yet I tried. I tried to express the stress that weighed me down. I tried to write about what was wrong, but I could not express. I could not find the words to shout that I had lost the thing I hold so dearly. The one thing that makes me myself was trapped and locked by the world around and I could not get to it.

It started rationally, yet quickly. I had to change my life, move to a new home. I had to unpack and be settled. Yet, settling did not happen. There was something that I forgot to take with me, some how in the busyness of life I forgot where my heart belonged. Still I knew it was around, until one day I did not. One day after weeks had passed I looked for myself, my heart and it was gone. My focus on work, and writings, and doings, and goings, and everything else that seemed so important had locked away my heart, my deepest being, until I was a stressed human with no true identity.

Funny how you can lose who you are so fast and hardly even notice. Something so valuable to us all is so easily lost, like a golden band worn on a finger or a diamond stud worn in your ear.

Thankfully I unlocked my heart and threw off the chains that held it away from me. Happiness and relief overwhelmed me, because I was me, I was whole and I am loved. You can not feel true love when your heart is chained down with stress and worries. So now with my heart freed I will dance and share the beauty that a freed heart sees.

The moral of the story is don’t lock your heart away with the stresses and worries of this world or you will lose something so beautiful, so magical and the one thing that makes you who you are. Let your heart be free at least a little each day.

I hope you enjoyed this and have a great day.

Oh and if you look at the categories you should be able to tell I have no idea what category this goes in.Â