Comments Posted By EmmaChristobel

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This has gone too far. Too far.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 01.18.2017 @ 1:52 am


Golf; a sport; a game; a pastime. Golf; does it make a difference?
Does anything make a difference? A sport, a song, a game, a frown, does any of it make a difference?

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 01.16.2017 @ 5:08 pm


I don’t know what they were thinking.
What were they thinking?
What were they thinking naming their child after an alcoholic drink?
Seriously, what were they thinking?
Did they think it would predict a happy and carefree life?
A life of celebration?
Because it didn’t.
It didn’t.
It didn’t.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 01.15.2017 @ 9:33 pm


I am going on holidays, and will not be able to write for 10-12 days. If people cared to look at somebody else’s pitiful musings, then perhaps I would hold you all in suspense for my future entries. But nobody really cares, so it will not be suspense at all, in fact.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.29.2016 @ 8:14 pm

The air is visibly tingling in front of me- vibrating, electric blue, waiting. It wants to lash out, swirl around what we are about to do. But- we can’t. We are locked staring into one another’s boiling red eyes.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.29.2016 @ 8:11 pm


Picture stars closer than ever before, some larger than life, some you’ve never seen before revealing themselves in the distance.
Picture space, in all it’s glory.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.27.2016 @ 2:30 am

I am sad to have missed the previous stimulus “piano”, so will write two entries under space, one for each.
A creak, barely audible, breaks the buzzing silence. A soft intake of breath; a fluttering of pages; the creaking of a pedal. Then- the silence breaks, dissipating in barely a second. Melodies, rich and full, flicker through the air, filling all available spaces but also rising, lifting, pulling you higher, floating underneath like a caressing cloud.
Footsteps leaving, time stands still.
A creak, barely audible.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.27.2016 @ 2:19 am


When I am older, I may consider studying to become a lawyer. Before I did this, though, I may have to read into possible different paths. I still do not know if this is the right thing for me.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.25.2016 @ 1:41 am



» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.20.2016 @ 1:56 am

A slick, shining rainbow shot down from the clouds reflects on its deceiving surface. It shines black underneath, true nature showing through, sitting atop the sea a foreboding cloud. It’s tendrils snake to the world underneath, strangling, poisoning, destroying. The people try to clear it, but there’s nothing they can do. The mistake has been made. It is irreversible. It is worse than anyway could imagine.
An oil spill.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.19.2016 @ 5:06 pm


Wealth… how can wealth be measured? By hundreds, thousands, million of dollars? Perhaps a vault of jewels, a large inheritance? Can wealth be measured in contentment, happiness, joy, peace with oneself? Is wealth a physical thing, to be hoarded and kept, priced and paraded? Or is it something bigger, something within ourselves that gives our lives a sense of enrichment? Has anyone ever known true wealth, in either enough riches to satisfy or true contentment with themselves? We will never know unless we become wealthy ourselves, which we cannot strive for as it can only happen without warning. Would we know if we were wealthy, or would we continue to deceive ourselves?
How can wealth be measured?

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.17.2016 @ 1:53 am


In everyone, a lake. Born pure and glistening, small fish leaping through with innocent thought. But look into this one- no life. Stagnated, polluted. This isn’t just anyone. This is not someone you want to meet.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.14.2016 @ 7:28 pm


The steaming bitumen streets snaked through endless browned paddocks and empty fields. Animals clustered under trees, plants no longer reached for the light, and I was going to stay in the middle of it all. It seemed such a good idea at the time… but it was the worst decision I made in my life. The last decision I made in my life.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.13.2016 @ 12:44 am


“I’m going west,” I explained to the man sitting across the table from me.
“Anywhere particular? Going overseas?” he queried, checking his phone.
“No, just west. I’m staying in the country. I’ve lived here all my life, yet I don’t feel like I know it well enough,” I explained, rising from my seat, “Goodbye. We may meet again, or maybe not. Probably not,”
“Bye, Emmelyn,”. He sounded uncertain.
And I left. It had always been this way. Go somewhere, meet some people, move on before I got to know them.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.12.2016 @ 1:09 am


They are all idiots! Don’t they know what they’re doing to us? They say they’re helping us- but I know better. All that they are doing to us is destroying our spirit and making us into robots. Perfect robots, but robots nonetheless. Our imperfection are what make us!

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.09.2016 @ 1:13 pm


The riverbank. My only refuge. Stand on the rock overlooking the rapids, and feel the power you hold. The power to throw yourself in. The power to end it all.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.08.2016 @ 10:28 pm


I lay down in the crook of the old gum tree and let it all sweep by. One tiny six-year-old wasn’t going to be noticed in such a cacophony of curious noises and people, and indeed I wasn’t. Or at least, until my friend skipped past, hand firmly in her mother’s grasp. She stopped, looked down at me dozing, then pulled free of her mother’s hand in the push and shove, lying down and closing her eyes next to me. Then, another came, and did the same. And another. And another. And another. And so my story began.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.07.2016 @ 1:09 pm


A beating heart.
I deep-throated voice.
Breaths going in and out.
A high, sweet voice breaks the low, deep beat.
Weaving around the song.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.06.2016 @ 1:41 am

My best friend is a drummer. She also plays the piano. This may give you the impression that she is only a musical person, but she is also amazing at hockey and excels academically. She has a beautiful personality and is fun to be around. She’s always there, unless she’s stolen my lunch and is off searching it! ;)

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.06.2016 @ 1:28 am


Everlasting tears, streaming through our veins.
Everlasting laughter, beating in our hearts.
Everlasting smiles, holding our head up high.
Everlasting sadness, keeping us tethered to the earth.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.04.2016 @ 5:42 pm


“I need proof! You cannot expect me to make a false assumption and arrest someone because you found some accusing bread crumbs-”
“And chicken wire, sir,” She replied to the sergeant.
“Ugh! And chicken wire! Now, nothing will be happening to Mr Darfucoil until I get some proper evidence!” his face was turning an unsightly red, the tip of his nose and his forehead standing out in their whiteness. He pushed Everest out of the door and onto the bitumen, slamming the door behind her.
“Well, that went well,” muttered Everest.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.03.2016 @ 2:11 pm


She continued to run, through it all. Through the screaming, through the burned shells of homes, through the destroyed lives of the people she loved. Her bare feet grew black with ash and red with cuts, but she kept going, as the bomb shattered the earth around her, flying debris and brick around her- they seemed to leave her be, the mysterious girl in the torn white dress, running. Running. Running.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 11.03.2016 @ 3:05 am


Liquid brown eyes stare back at me through the cage. One side is shaved, and mangy fur lays accusingly on the table. The dog is whimpering at the needles, knives, creams and mixtures that lay beside it- and all I want to do it get it out.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 10.30.2016 @ 1:56 pm

It was… cute, I guess. I mean, they kind of fitted together perfectly, like they were pieces of the same puzzle… but they were missing something. They were incomplete. And I had a bad feeling that what was missing was any actually feeling. Not a good sign. It all felt orchestrated and fake.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 10.30.2016 @ 2:00 am


It lifts me!
The draft underneath the door!
The wind in the morning!
The breeze of twilight!
The hot breath of noon!
It lifts me!
It lifts me!

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 10.29.2016 @ 2:42 am

The sun was rising. It was so beautiful, so pure, and something about it just made my heart ache. Ache like never before. Nothing mattered. It lifted me, this feeling, and I soared above it all. Above the poverty and the wars, the sadness and the terror. And I just let go. Of everything. Of it all.

» Posted By EmmaChristobel On 10.29.2016 @ 2:39 am

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