Hm, that's interesting. Wonder what was in the box? 😛

Where's Andrew Ketterley when you need the contents of a box revealed? 😉

Heehee. I, myself, haven't the slightest idea of what could be in there... I may have to get Andrew Ketterley. 😉

Here's something I wrote when I first arrived at my destination:

Am I in reality or is everything merely a dream? Nothing seems real to me as I sit here wondering about these last two days. The morning I left I watched the sun shining brighter, brighter than I remember it ever being. Blades of grass looked sharp and colours, yes, the colours were vibrant against the pale blue sky. It seemed like fantasy as I watched that familiar but strangely unfamiliar world through my glass window. We parted ways and I know we won't meet again for some time. A very long time.

The road leading to where I sit now was long, but even the length of the trip did not make it any less surreal, perhaps it only exaggerated it. Nothing can be put to words to accurately describe my rush of emotions and also the lack. All at once I feel excited, scared, happy, sad, and it leaves me confused which turns into a mess of nothing, absolutely nothing, just like the overwhelming white walls that envelop me as I write. I'm sure in a few days things will go back to how they once were, the daily grind. But right now it only feels like a vacation stay, temporary until I go back 'home'. But that place, hundreds of miles away, it isn't home. This will be my new home. This is my new home.

Very well written, Ela! *hugs*

Very good!

Nice and vivid and descriptive!

*Hugs Gyps*
Thanks, it was a confusing time when I wrote that. Sometimes I still feel a tinge of it but things are looking brighter and my emotions have settled for the most part.
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I have no idea what to title this, so feel free to suggest!

There was a sound of rustling and of scraping metal, but there was no comfort of a human voice to be heard. No one dared talk, not even the most lighthearted fellows, in those moments, those which felt like hours as each man and boy listened for the last command, dreading it with all their hearts but, at the same time, wishing it was over.

William closed his eyes as he felt the ground shake beneath him, readying himself as the others were but never once thinking of himself. It was his only brother, Thomas, who took up his desperate prayers.

He made a promise to his mother: he would make sure Tom was safe and he would bring him home after all this was over. Such a simple thing it seemed at the time, but now he realized promises such as his were made to be shattered into sharp pieces that pierce the heart. If something did happen, if Thomas was injured or killed--- He brought his brother close, trying to push such impossibly abhorrent ideas from his mind. Even then it was difficult to fully understand their situation, two fragile leaves hanging on the edge of precious seconds between a future, however bleak it looked amidst such desolation, and a life cut short, oh so short.

He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Will, we'll make it out. The both of us.” Such youthful hope radiated from his brother's eyes, precious stones in a pile of dust and ashes. William loved him for it and wished he told him so. He never did and he would never have the chance --- the whistle blew.

It was time.
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This just sorta happened... I may decide to make it longer, but I don't know just yet.

What's happening to them, Ela? You've gotta write more!

Awesome! 😯

@Jaygee: I guess I left that out. 🙄 I wanted a bit more ambiguity, so I discarded all terms that told where they are and what they're doing and went with a more showy description in hopes the environment and tension unfolded on its own. Did that make any sense? 😛 Anyway, it was called "going over the top" by soldiers of the Great War and it is exactly what it sounds like. They would go over the top of the safety in their trenches into enemy fire awaiting them when they got on top. Military commanders who ordered these attacks did so in hopes of gaining enemy territory, but very little ground was acquired at the cost of so many lives. That's basically it.

Thanks, Gyps! 😀

Ah. That does make sense. 😉

Before having read your explanation, Elanor, I was thinking, "So... Gunther and Michael, but in Albie and [friend's name I'm blanking on]'s position." 😀

@Ariel: I didn't even make the connection until I read it over after I'd written it. 😛 I do wonder what happened to the two of my characters, though. Wonder if there's more of a story waiting to be told in there... (By the way, you've given me a fic idea. *headdesks*)

*"innocently" grins and forms a halo over her head with her hands...*

Here's something short:

My name is Lacey Weaver. I'm rather common-looking but I manage to catch a few stares by people passing by or those who just happen upon me, (such scenarios happen way too often for me to like). I normally live under houses, in hollowed trees, in old abandoned barns, or attic spaces (I currently make my home in one) where no one will find me. If you haven't guessed already, I'm a shy gal and my only wish is to be away from people, especially the ones who look down on me as if I'm nothing.

Even so, I consider myself talented and can spin out the finest woven designs you've ever seen. Beautiful, some have called it and I'm always delighted to think they enjoy my handiwork. Others don't take pleasure in it so much and destroy all I've made and send me on my way to a new home. It's hard moving place to place, but if I didn't I would surely die. I don't want to die. No spider wants that.
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I don't know why I wanted to give a personality to a creature that frightens me, but there it is. 😛