Literally Nothing

And then there was nothing. No joining heartbeats to break the stillness, no tinkling laughter to create some sort of distraction from the pulsating void. The only break from the perpetual nothingness was the pain, and the pain came as faithfully as the rain at the worst possible moment.

Crimson against porcelain flesh, flashes of truth across righteous indignation, and then, again, nothing.  

Rivulets crystallized on tarnished silver cause people to turn away, as if in shame that they have nothing to give…

And again….

Nothing

The Eyes of Oak Hill Cemetery

Memories.

We were deciphering rocket science, bro. :P

The Faces of Ada Long's Writers

"Writing good fiction or good poetry is an out of body experience... all of  your surroundings affect you in some way." -Adam Vines

Look at that smile.

.

OUR rOCkiNG WRITERS' blOCK sTAFF

Associate Editors

Bethany Griffice (sillytwin)
Allie King (sillytwin)
Patriciamarie MgBodile(my little angel)
Ra’Quann Randle-Bustamonte(BIG POPPA)
Laila-Rose Ruzic(weird and weirder)
Esmé Shields(weirdest--she likes this!)

Faculty Advisors

Shelly Cato
David Hornbuckle
Halley Cotton
The BIG MOSS

Student Media Advisors

Amy Kilpatrick
Bill Neville


A HUGE THANKS TO ALL WRITERS' BLOCK 2013 staff

Traveler (draft)

Traveler

by Bethany Griffice

The rusty railroads displays the way to me

Through the crooks and creeks of the earth,

Revealing new things.

Distance passes under my feet

Vivid and dull greens of trees,

Swaying as the calm wind blows through them.

The tilted, board less pier decays in the calm murky river waters

An arched moon hangs over my head,

In the sun

Grey white clouds cover the dim blue sky

Confusion surrounds me as the world passes by