Creative Writing - Session 1

Creative Writing - Session 1

The experiment we did was simple but empowering. Edward gave as the task to write a text, no matter what style, using some random words we chose as a group. Let's see what this made us produce in 30 minutes!

Simon Wehrli

Oct. 29, 2019

The words chosen were:






This moment

Sometimes you want them onto your face,

to expose yourself to them,

not thinking of getting sick for weeks afterwards,

to feel each of them,

reminding you of somebody showing you their affection,

but missing the right form of tenderness.

You take any these days, 

you let them carry you through the river - turbulent these times - separating you from the world behind you,

where no sun warms your skin,

her light does not reach through the clouds on the endless sky of your disorientation.

Still, the sprinkles on your pale cheeks seem to capture her reflection,

with the exploding sound of a waterfall of released feelings,

flooding your inner island of seclusion,

delivering you to the forces of a natural power you do neither understand nor control,

making you finally give up and accept the bounding box surrounding your searching soul,

letting it grow its first leaves,

nurtured by the same force that made you resign,

making you aware of all the flavours of the journey through the hills of yourself.

As the tears from your eyes mix with them,

disappearing from your sight just before touching the ground,

you finally look up, start smiling to them,

drops of heavy rain.

by Simon

Heavy Rain

What happens when the leafs are falling? We lose our shelter...almost autumn...I sit alone outside, feeling the pressure...the year is almost over...what happened all this days...the sky is getting dark...heavy rain...but it doesn't is not just a short moment in our life...I mean our life is short isn't it?...In our history 200 years feels so long...but for a turtles life is nothing...heavy rain is splashing on the is getting colder...I think back when I was standing under the waterfall...watching the turtles moving...slowly...very they would have all the time of the world...Here I am now...standing in the rain...leaves falling down...we all live in a box...our life is a box...we would never reach the 200 years...maybe therefore people are so hectic all the time, as they would die in the next moment...I don't like to be hectic...would love to be a turtle...moving slowly...very slowly...and now the year is almost over, one year more in my life...thinking about which goals I already reached...but why?...My goal can be also moving a turtle... as I would have all the time of the world...

The rain does not stop...

Neither do I, as I am still breathing every second...

Breathing is life...

Waiting for the next years to come...

Until I stop breathing like every entity will do on our beautiful earth...

We come and go like heavy rain...

Some of us earlier...

The others later...


by Florence

Cursed in the Rain

She stood there motionless.

The heavy raindrops beat down like drums on her head.

Her clothes so wet they could absorb no more.

Her tormenters circled her, their words stabbed deep into her fragile ego.

Muddy splashes slapped against her.

Brown speckles erupted on her face.

Eventually she couldn’t even hear what they were saying.

It was always the same anyway.

Why did they think she was a witch?

What had she done?

Why did they ever care?

She was at breaking point.

Her friend wasn’t there to help her.

No one was there to help her.

She always could rely on her friend.

But she even pushed them away.

She pushed everyone away.

She was alone.

She was tired.

She was sick to the bone of this.

Her heart was thumping.

Sweat flushed out of her skin.

She was bubbling inside.

She couldn’t hold it in any more.

And then it came.

She screamed so loud it shook the earth.

Everything stopped.

Ears were deafened.

Heads were turned.

Rain drops were shook.

It lasted an eternity.

That single powerful sound.

But at the end of that eternity, she stopped.

But before anything could happen, something else happened.

A clap of thunder echoed through the playground.

Windows shook in their sills.

A flash of light blasted through the air.

Everyone stared at her.

She stared inside herself.

Was she actually a witch?

Had the world answered her call?


by Edward

A long trip

When you come across a leaf, really stare at it, look at it
repeatedly until its shape stops making sense, how it morphs into
tentacles, how it moves, how its veins wind and fan out or the jagged
edges repeat as you zoom in to ask questions only to get more
merciless questions and get left with a useless appeal to the
absolute, they remind me of a small creek that widens when the heavy
rains come and roll down the hills.

The creek has now grown violent and unstoppable, like a predator that
consumes and the dictator that subdues. But like all predator
dictators, they meet their end all too soon when they run out of
earth, just left with blue sky facing them at the edge of the
precipice, no resistence to hold that force together in a steady
stream, so that stream turns into a waterfall, heavy with spoils:
rocks, trees, branches, roots and yet more leaves that used to happily
grow by the creek unaware that the thunder was a last minute warning.

The same trees, with leaves that hang like suspended drops of heavy
rain. Suspended like us, all of us, hanging by a thread at the edge of
that waterfall, but living in the illusion that we live in a cozy box.
We recognize ourselves as independent, strong individuals with a
powerful will, but we are all connected to that machine, to that box.
It is that box where we offer our basice freedoms as sacrifice that
makes us powerful, it is that box that brings us opportunities we
would never dream of if that vessel were not there to lift us above
ourselves. It is the spaceship that is a prison but protects you from
the vacuum of space.

This is where the mariner's thoughts wandered in those long trips
to the asteroid belt, he had not seen a leaf in years, let alone a
waterfall, a stream. All the water he knew in the last years was
spherical drops.


by João


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