Write about something ugly and find beauty in it:

Brains are incredibly ugly. They’re slimy, grotesque things that most sane people would never wish to touch. However, that’s okay, because whilst encapsulated in our thick craniums, they’re not tangible due to their incredibly fragility. Understandable, considering they hold the entire basis for human life. They have to capability to define who you are as a human being. Are you creative or more analytical and focused on facts? The answer to that question lies in the feeble, heinous structure of your brain. This astonishing organ is capable of storing the unforgettable stories of an entire lifetime, but is still remarkably adaptable to change. The beauty of such an ugly thing lies within, just like everything else in this vast world. 

The cold, dense air burned my throat as the bullets rang passed my ears. I have scarcely missed six potentially fatal shots today. A bullet shell drops at my feet. It hits the hard ground hard and makes a subtle chime. More fall, and all I can think of is the wind chimes in the summer time on my front porch. My mom is cooking in the kitchen, and my father is lecturing me that I need to get my life together.

“Maybe you should stop being such a coward, and just enlist already.”

I only enrolled so my father would finally be proud of me. I regret this decision more than anything else in all my life. I can’t believe I could be so stupid. No matter what I do, I know he’ll never look at me with the proud glow in his eyes the way I've seen my friends dad’s look at their sons. I know he’ll never respect my wishes. No matter what I do, he’ll never be happy with the progress I've made in life. He’ll only respect me after I die “bravely.”

In my mind though, war is for cowards. It’s for people who don’t wish to sort out their problems in logical ways, but rather just use violence as means for “winning”. Thinking of this is making my mind explode with thoughts as if it's a grenade.

“GRENADE!”

I need to get out of this place. My thoughts are racing faster than thick lead through these powerful guns. These so called enemies are my friends. I need them to be my friends. I need someone new and different to talk to. I need perspective from the other side. I want to know how I can help these young, civilian soldiers when I get out of here. I want to quit and join the Peace Corps. It’s been a dream of mine since before I can remember.

Get me out of here. I’m sorry father I can’t do this anymore.

I dart from the trenches. “PRIVATE. GET BACK HERE.” Where is here? There is no here. There can’t be. I don’t want to be alive. I charge to the enemy side. Nothing can stop me now. Nothing except a young boy, about eight, aiming a gun towards me. He’s standing in front of an older woman holding a small child.

“I”M NOT A THREAT. I WILL GET YOU OUT OF HERE!”

He fires. My left shoulder is bleeding. It feels like the time I was helping my dad build the tree house in the backyard. I fell and dislocated my shoulder.

“Get up and be a man.” My father said that to me a lot.

“PLEASE GET UP PHIL! I CAN’T LOSE YOU NOW!”

I can hear my friend, George, screaming my name. He needs help. The other side is closing in. Closer. Closer.

Their shooting George at close range now. He has no way out. I must act fast if I want my best friend to live another day.

I fire my gun. I see a tall, tan man dressed in the other sides uniform drop to the ground. A bullet directly between his eyes. He’s gone. A bullet I shot. He is dead. I have never felt more alive. Exhilarated, I fire my weapon again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Four more men on the ground.

Again.

Again.

I have so much power in my hands.

I can’t stop. Not now. I’m alive. “Dad, I’m a hero.” I’m a hero.

FINAL DRAFTS

HAIKU

I'm falling apart.

You, a weathered skeleton,

Continue onwards.

STANZA:

He was a monotonous tragedy of wasted potential. 

Every morning, he'd snap his bones out of bed,

Peal his stiff muscles from the scratchy bed sheets.

He'd crawl from his lonely place of slumber,

Stumble over to the drawers of anguish and closets of rage.

Tear his skin from the hanger and step into it.

Zip up the flesh he must continually wear.

His skin was so uncomfortable.


He spent his days in utter misery.

Constantly trying to face the fact that he'd never have enough fist to punch away his anger,

Never enough love to fill the craters in his heart.

Never enough focus to replace the missing mechanics of his mind.

Never enough.



Lately was worse than usual. 

His best friends abandoned him at the first sign of vulnerability. 

He had been slowly fading into obscurity, 

and was now fully enveloped by the dark thoughts in his wandering mind.

His jovial personality had dilapidated. 

He struggled for the will to graduate. 

He could not comprehend why the sky, which is an inanimate being had more will to wake up in the morning than he did. 


But he emerged. 

Victorious.

He graduated high school. 

He found love.

He found peace and fulfillment. 

A world of possibilities opened up for him when he realized that embracing his life was going to be the biggest favor he ever did for himself. 

He let death find him alive.

FREE WRITE:

The blades of grass didn't feel like blades at all. 

They felt like tranquility.

They felt like the most beautiful bed.

The sun's rays didn't sting the way you'd imagine.

They warmed your face.

They reminded you that the brighter times are coming.

The snow fell gracefully to the ground. 

Beautiful, white, powerdy dust.

but it didn't feel the way you'd imagine.

Cold.

It made you think you'd never feel warm again. 

ROUGH DRAFTS

HAIKU:

I'm falling apart.
You, a weathered skeleton

Continue onwards.




STANZA:

He was a monotonous tragedy of wasted potential.
Every morning, snapping his bones out of bed, 

Pealing tendons and loose limbs from his place of slumber.

He must crawl out of his blanket of loneliness and sheet of despair.

Stumble over to the drawers of anguish and closets of rage.

Tear his skin from the hanger and step into it.

Zip up the flesh he must continually wear.

This skin is so uncomfortable.



Lately was worse than usual.
His best friends abandoned him at the first sign of vulnerability.
He had been slowly fading into obscurity,
and was now fully enveloped by the dark thoughts in his mind.
His jovial personality had dilapidated.
He struggled for the will to graduate.
He could not comprehend why the sky, which is an inanimate being had more will to wake up in the morning than he did. 

But he emerged victorious.
He graduated high school.
He found love.
He found peace and fulfillment.
A world of possibilities opened up for him when he realized that embracing his life was going to be the biggest favor he ever did for himself.
He let death find him alive.






FREE WRITE:

The blades of grass didn't feel like blades at all.
They felt like tranquility.
They felt like the most beautiful bed.

The sun's rays didn't sting the way you'd imagine.
They warmed your face.
They reminded you that the brighter times are coming.

The snow fell blanky on the ground.
A cold, barren landscape.
It made you question if you'd ever see the fields again.