This was a piece I recently wrote for a university assignment that I’ve decided to share.
For the purposes of this piece, Elianna is pronounced along the lines of ‘Eli-Arna’.

Ellianna wore a light, fitting floral white dress that hung freely over her shoulders. Her elegant and slender frame attracted many men, and it was her eyes that both deterred boys from her, yet drew them in closer. Although her beautiful brown eyes were soft, they were also striking. Sharp enough to thoroughly level any man that dared peer into them. Her eyes were filled with such an indescribable flair, one that is barely seen in the eyes of an excited child, let alone a woman of her age. They were filled with a flame, a spark, a something, it cannot be described, nor explained, and that is where its beauty lies, amidst the silence that accompanies it. Elianna’s light-brown hair appeared to dance in the sunshine, swaying side to side across her shoulders. A shrine to her brilliance, of which permeated the very air around her.

She wore converse high-top shoes, of purely white. The laces tied neatly. For others, the Earth moved and continued its cycle regardless of their own insignificant movements, but with Elianna, it moved in unison with her. For Elianna was different to the others; she would not allow herself to be bound by the feeble chains of ignorance and doubt, that seduced many a man, woman and child.

She entered the hair salon, a place among the many. As she entered through the glass door, she was met immediately with the foyer. Checkered-black and white tiles confronted her, in the diagonal pattern she had always loved to trace with her eyes as a child, believing that there was some secret pattern waiting to be unearthed. She strode over to a vacant black leather-clad seat that sat opposite a large-scale mirror mounted to the wall. The light in the foyer cast a tranquil yellow glow across the room, that brought with it a gentle warmth.

The hairdresser Sylvia approached her and various pleasantries were exchanged. Amidst wide-eyed smiles, gracious nods and various idle chatter, Elianna sunk deep within the intricate folds of her own mind. She found herself staring deep within the mirror, tracing her features with a gentle caress of her eyes. Her soft, plump lips and rosy cheeks. Her long, thin eyelashes. Her clear, exuberant skin. With the snip-snip of scissors, clumps of hair fell onto her shoulders and onto the foyer floor, oblivious to her. It wasn’t long before Elianna faded away before her very own eyes. As if lifted by a cosmic force, she found herself floating in nothingness. There were but bright stars of various vibrant colours erupting into existence around her; red, blue, green, yellow and purple. Her hair was free-flowing, as if supported by a straying wind. She cannot recall how long she spent in such a place, that held no concept of time, but when she returned, she could see the difference. The spark in her eyes, now resembled the spark of a star, similar to the stars that she had envisioned. It was ever-brighter, and fiercer than ever.

If you enjoyed it, let me know.

Perhaps we will see Elianna more in the future.


Creative Writing Requests & The Untold Story:


I figured that this would be a great way to both generate a larger audience, whilst also testing my writing capabilities. All that I write, holds meaning in some manner, shape or form. I cannot write something that holds nothing within it. There is little point in an abundance of empty words. As an empath, I have been granted the amazing gift of being able to feel the emotions of those around me to a powerful and profound degree. Music has a profound effect for many as we all know. In order to strengthen my writing, I’ve decided to attempt to transcribe a story from a chosen song. I will seek out a song by myself, or have one submitted via the comment section below.
Guidelines for submission:
1. I would prefer songs that instead of having distinct lyrics, have vocalisations. As with lyrics, the story is already being given to me.
2. Instrumental-based songs are always a plus, as it leaves great room for one to take something away from what the artist is trying to create.
Here is a song that I have chosen for today (to provide an example for future pieces):

The Untold Story:
He could not open his eyes, struggle as he might. All that came from such a struggle, was a mere fluttering of eyelids. His time had come, his open was about to close. He could feel her warmth against him; the warmth of her hand in his, holding him tightly. All he desired, in this entire world, was to look upon those emerald green eyes once more. Then he could rest in peace. To look upon her warm smile once more. But the image of her eyes and smile would never leave his mind, and even death could not steal such a indescribable sight. He could no longer hear the whispering of the wind as it encircled the trees, or the soft hum of the bees in their hives. He could no longer hear the cold winter wind’s that had once threatened his heart and home on more than one occasion. He wished desperately that his hearing would return to him, for how else would he hear her? But it all seemed stripped from him, as he lay there. It was as if he were still, existing in but a void, as he could not even hear the sound of his own breath, entering and exiting his body.

Yet, in his mind, he could remember it all as if it was but yesterday. How he would scoop up her slender, slim frame into his tanned muscled arms, carrying her inside to their bedroom, laying her down softly atop the bed. As he stood above her, he would gaze down into her stunning emerald green eyes, as it was as if the world would cease its spin, and reverse. It was as if nature stopped its plight, and not even the whispering of the wind could be heard, no matter how closely you listened. It was as if they were the only two people left alive in this beautiful world. It was the same emerald green eyes that had brought nothing but peace, love and joy to him over the plethora of years that they had spent together. Even as the winter’s harsh rains and winds fought fiercely against the walls that he now calls home, they would huddle together by the fireplace. The cottage of stone and wood, lit by several candles. The wick burning slowly into the nights, the wax dripping down onto the wooden floor. On such nights, he would often say to her; that there was no need for any candle or flame, that her beauty was enough to ignite even the darkest and dullest of places.

He could feel the warmth in his hand slowly fading, and he struggled. He struggled against death’s cold touches. Fighting for his last chance to feel her against him, her warmth. To see her smile and her eyes. At last, he felt his eyes open slightly, as he returned his gaze to her. It was the same sight that he had grown accustomed to over the years. Her long brown hair hanging loosely over her white gown. Her eyes, as bright as ever, yet filled with small tears, as they flowed freely down the sides of her face. Yet she smiled at him, and he smiled back, before sinking back into the close that had come for him. He could feel himself falling away, and within his mind was the image of his beloved’s tear-filled eyes and smile permanently etched. She looked down upon his body, the wears of life etched unto his aged face in the form of wrinkles. His brow thick with sweat, as the warmth left his body. She leaned down and pressed her lips against his, with little resistance from him. As his vision began to fade to black, and as his soul drifted from his body, he felt that last warmth in his hand and pressed to his lips as he slowly slipped away. He released his hold on this world, and accepted Death’s cold, yet comforting and guiding hand. His soul swiftly descended from his body, returning to the Earth from which he had been born.

Hours past by, as the woman sat by her husband’s cold body. Tears still flowing from her eyes. It was almost morning when she went outside, the tears not yet dried, but etched on her pale cheeks. She let out a long, sorrowful note, that shattered the heavens, and silenced the very wind itself. All was still and silent. No rustling or sounds of the forest that had long encircled their home. She sunk to her knees on the soft soil. Before her, it was as if the forest offered her a tribute to her husband’s soul. As a soft delicate purple flower grew from the earth. Slowly it rose and blossomed, its petals large and lavish, whilst also being slender and delicate to the touch. She closed her eyes for several moments, before opening them once more. The tears now stopped as abruptly as they had begun. She stood, her legs shaking. Before returning inside, to lay beside her husband once more. It was not long before these flowers appeared to infest the forest by which the couple had called their home for years upon years. A lasting and living reminder of the two beautiful souls that had graced the forest with their presence. As the years wore on, it was not long before she, herself passed just as he had done. On the moment of her passing, it was as if the forest itself let out a long, sorrowful note. The flowers seemingly erupted from the very soil, spreading all throughout the land. The wind paid its respects and ceased echoing throughout the land, just as the animals ceased moving and laid down their heads, bowing. The trees ceased swaying, and the rains refused to fall.

All was silent for a few moments, before the wind once again resumed its plight through the land, yet now it carried something more. It carried her voice, and their story. Whether the nights were cold or warm, harsh or forgiving. Whether the days were long or the nights short. The wind held fast to their story, and carried it across the world, for all those that wished to hear, to hear. 

Winter’s Solstice


Allow me to tell you another story friend. Come, sit by the warm hearth, and listen to the crackling of the fire as winter ravages the landscape outside. The cold winds; piercing through all that they touch. Not even the most sorrowful and heartening cries of the wolves can be heard over the barren, mountainous landscape. There are many stories that by which I wish that they never truly end, but surely every open must have a close? Yet I find myself praying that this close does not steal what the open has granted. But that it merely seals the story in stone, for all the years, nights and days to come. For what has been granted in this open, gifts me the ability to walk out into the harshness alone, dressed in but cloths, to only return warmer than this very moment in which I sit by the fireplace. For although I may not hold materialistic wealth which can grant me warmth, I have found wealth of the heart and soul, and it brings me great solace. Nature can take me; by wounds and pain, by clothes and by sword, but it will never take nor tarnish my heart, for that belongs to another. For all these days, and for evermore.

For I was but walking through the mountain, days before the solstice came. When I came across a beautiful maiden, sitting by what was once a frozen stream. But through merely her soft, delicate touch, life had returned in a small clearing around her. The flowers blossomed before my very eyes, returning from their wilted state as the grass shone a brilliant green, as if ignited by the sun’s beams. The water began to flow freely once more, rushing down over the green moss-covered stones, trickling down the sloped earth. The maiden’s stunning long gold and brown hair appeared to catch the very gaze of the heavens above, as the sun pierced through the winter sky. Shifting the clouds that had remained at a standstill in the sky for years upon years, as the winter never came to a close. But always remained an open. She turned her eyes to me, and in that moment, I felt my heart cease beating. As I stared into her brown eyes, I lost myself in them. I became not a man, but something more, and less at the same time. I found myself in another world, rid of winters. A world of summers and spring. Of vibrant colours and mysteries not yet touched nor explored by man’s hands.

When I returned to my flesh and bone, I cannot describe the feeling that was felt. For it was unlike anything ever experienced before. It was beyond words, and no amount of words could do any justice. But as I stared into her eyes, and she stared into mine, we merely knew. No words had to be said, we just understood. And as she smiled that adorable smile, he knew that he was hers. Right from that instant, he loved that smile, and only time intensified and made that love and connection stronger. As the days passed, one after the other. He would return to that very spot every morning and sit beside her, for hours at a time. Until the day came to a close and she returned to the heavens from whence she came. It was her glow, her shine that gave the other stars the light in the night sky. She was not just a woman, but a goddess. Every day, they but sit in silence, for a silence can say greater things than words could ever even begin to describe. He tries to find the words to describe her. To describe her immense beauty, both inside and out, yet fails every single time. But still he tries, and try he will till the end of his days.

As she returns to the heavens as dusk comes, he lays outside, and stares up at the night sky, longing and waiting for her return. The cold harshness blows around him, coming close but never touching him. For through their connection, his heart shines brightly. Breathing life into the ground around him. It wasn’t long until she showed him what he was capable of, through the silences and moments that they shared together. His heart was already strong, and fierce, but she strengthened his softness and his gentleness. Reminding him of a person that he knew long ago, yet had not seen for a long time, stolen by winter’s grasp. You see, the greatest things in life are those that do not come freely, but are built and struggled for. The greatest forms of love are those that simply appear, as if born out of the void itself. Those that walk beside you, breathing life and joy into all that you see. They appear from out of the storms and tempests, smiling, scarred, yet untouched. And in those moments, when you have found the one, you will merely know. Words will be but useless currencies, and silence will be profound.

For as a writer, of whom uses words as his currency. To express his undefiable will and voice, to be silenced at a whim. By an adorable smile, and by beautiful, yet soft brown eyes. Is something that can never be expressed. I would be better served by creating a story, with no start nor finish. But to leave a blank piece of paper in this story’s stead. Thus, I gift you the solace that comes with silence. Hold onto it, and bathe in it. It is there, that you will find something profound.

Clockwork Hearts


I haven’t written for a very long time, and I could write excuses to explain why, but there really is no excuse. I guess I just lost touch with myself for a while there, but I’m back now. Today, I’m going to place a different spin on the same old, yet new fable.

The man sat upon the ledge of the concrete bridge, his legs swaying side to side as the river lapped at the shore beneath him. He could hear the gentle, yet steady rising and falling of the tide. Despite such a peaceful, sure sound, his thoughts relentlessly dragged him further into the night. Time meant little to him, it brought no assurance nor comfort. Any other man would lay asleep in bed at this time of night, blissfully ignorant to all that ensues around him. For ignorance is the greatest bliss that one can bathe in. I wonder now, is that why we all choose ignorance over the truth that lays right before us? We stand and cast our eyes all around us, desperately searching for it. Yet completely ignorant to the fact that we grasp it tightly within our own hands.

In a world such as ours, there is nothing more beautiful than the story of a person’s heart. A luxurious tale of their memories, moments, scars, loves, drives, ambitions, fears and dreams. There is nothing as sacred as one’s own story.
For it cannot be stolen, nor dictated or determined by anyone else, but your own self.

Now tell me, what legacy will you leave behind when your heart departs from this world? Will it be a tale of peace and happiness? A fable filled with strife and reward? Or perhaps a life filled with doubt and fear? The beauty of it all, is that its entirely up for you to decide. Yet here the man sat, late into the night, bound by his thoughts, fears and doubts. By his scars of the past. His clockwork heart was worn and beat. Whirring loudly, late into the night. He knew no sleep nor rest. Any rest was but a half-rest, where his dreams were assailed by the same binds that held him in their grasp currently. Yet his heart never skipped a beat.

He could easily blame the current state of his heart on the past, on those that had struck him down. Blaming it on the hidden blades that were plunged into his heart time and time again, soaked in a hidden poison. Cleverly hidden beneath smiles and gestures of good will and love. But that answer; that half-truth, or perhaps quarter-truth, he could not accept. Physical scars will fade with time, and those on one’s heart and mind can be mended. This is as sure as the lapping of the river upon the shore. But by merely living in the past, the future will hold no sure things. It will hold no rising or setting of the sun. It will hold no laughter, warmth or love. It will hold no horrific tempests that ensue, nor the clear skies that follow, bringing nothing but happiness. For all of these are sure things. There will always be a light after the dark storms that ensue. Time is but a cruel mistress. One can never know how long you will have to bear the weight of the storm, but one thing can always be assured – that there will be a light eventually.

Look around, do thou not see the lights scattered in the storm, fleeting but existent? There are your brothers and sisters, children of mankind, struggling through the very storm that you face. For you are never alone, come now. Bring your lanterns together for a greater light to see by, a greater light to see you both through the numbing darkness of the storm at hand.

Every man, woman and child holds a sacred truth. Their ultimate truth of being. Something that governs all that they do, desire and crave. To lose that truth, is to lose who you are. Thus, I beseech you. Never lose who you are, not for your love, not for your family, not for any person that you meet. For if you lose yourself, you will be left but an empty shell, a husk of the person that you used to be. There is no greater pain than losing one’s self, when that love leaves or person leaves. Therefore, I beseech you, not to make the same mistake I did.

But do not be afraid to give a person your heart and soul, pain will always exist. It teaches us many a thing. Love is not as fleeting as you think. A wise man can look outside a window and find love in every detail hidden within the world around him. But do not allow that same heart and soul to be turned inside and out for that love. Your heart and soul will take strikes, and pain, but it can survive and endure. For all those that have had the thought of giving up, are you not here now? Reading the last few sentences of this long-winded tale? You are strong, and you can do and become anything that you desire.