I'm just a normal girl thing of this world to improve.thought, I have failed a lot of times in my life but I have always emerged as a fighter from it .I want to do extraordinary things,I want to fly up high in the skies.I want to feel the air up on the mountain tops where I want to reach.For me sky is not my limit but sky is my destination. I will get up each time I fall and see that I am stronger than before because I learn from my mistakes.
I just created a nugget in which I share with you a piece of flash fiction I wrote a small while ago. One of the first pieces of flash fiction I read was by Ernest Hemingway, I believe it went "baby shoes: never worn". How is it possible than in four words a writer can make me sit back from my computer and utter the word: "wow". This piece really has such an impact and so I fell in love with flash fiction. I believe that truly talented writers such as Hemingway can really cause a reaction in a reader with only a handful of words. A great writer will leave the reader reeling: "what happened to the baby?"; "was there ever a baby?". From past experience with Hemingway, there was a baby, but it was never born. The point is that in four words he sparked an internalised debate. I wish one day to inspire and provoke intense reactions in only four words.
Is it correct to call a garden effervescent? The way the flowers bubble up to the surface when it's their time and then disappear when they reach a certain point. Bubbling, fizzing and dispelling flowers, one of every colour in every shape, size and nature. Tall ones and small ones, thick ones and spindly ones. I would pick a favourite but the whole garden is my favourite. I like the way all the colours harmonise together in a perfect medley of petals and stalks, branches and leaves. I like how the rainbow above is overshadowed by the vibrancy and life of the garden below. The rainbow can't even fathom the colours below it, the shades and tones of indescribable light. Little pops of pink and yellow in a soft ocean of green. A peaceful haven cast in the shadow of fluffy white clouds in a shimmering sky of blue.
11:59.one more minute.his heart raced, sweat droplets forming around the crown of his head, his eyes searching for someone, searching for something. the darkness surrounding his room made his heart race even more, terrified of what might be lurking there. he checked his digital wristwatch. 40 more seconds. he licked his lips, tightening his grip on his blanket.'just a few more seconds,' he thought. 'it'll soon be over.' his door slightly opened. he gulped. he started counting down. '10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,' '1'
I am in the fiery hole. I am in the raging river. I am in the frigid nil. Whale hunters seek me out. Politicians lobby for my vote. Ancient buildings draw great crowds, who catch a glimpse of how crowds were controlled by walls long ago. Help comes with many different types of sirens, and coffee comes with many different types of bitterness. I am in the smoldering hole, sick of the masses. I am in the trickling stream, immune to all your passing beauty. Ancient thinkers impress me, still, with their great writing. Starving immigrants plead with me to buy a souvenir object. I'm looking for a coffee shop to offer me the right kind of coffee product and connect me with the world outside my ancient hole.