Ladies and gentlemen... the WrongPlanet writing showcase

Page 14 of 49 [ 779 posts ]  Go to page Previous  1 ... 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17 ... 49  Next

WinstonK
Butterfly
Butterfly

User avatar

Joined: 18 Jan 2008
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Posts: 9

13 Feb 2010, 5:46 pm

A creative emotional piece of writing, my very first try, completely freestyle.

World all around me,
It's a ridiculous rat race that we live in.
From the corporate and monotonous conformance, the meticulous, or shall I say, ridiculous brand of scrutiny,
the social magnifying glass that we all pass under.
Every person you meet get's to look at you through the magnifying glass,
and you look right back at them, through a different lens of this tool, this tool we are borne with.
It's a grave injustice, a despicable treachery that the modern incarnation of American society feels the need to train their children like this.
To be a completely aesthetic race, to judge every book automatically by it's color, is nothing but a shame.

Obviously relationships are formed through time, but mainly because people develop a shell, to attract another view and or adoration, And therefore try to break the magnifying glass for only a moment.
Often this does not work, and that's the English language has words like Depression, or Sadness, because when it all comes down to it, that's what we are.
We are all different people, with different magnifying glasses, simply trying to be less scrutinized by others.
We all want to form carnal and emotional bonds, but we simply tango.
As young adults, the magnifying glass is an almost unbreakable screen, sucking us into cliques and groups during our teenage years. Through the school system, to the way you communicate, from the toothpaste to the socks, it's all to make ourselves more confident, so that we feel contented enough to allow people to scrutinize us.
As we grow older, the magnifying glasses grow weaker, we form relationships with people, mutually understanding true interests, instead of simply being underhanded, we start to understand that we can balance our self image and still learn to break away from it.

Their is a reason that the elderly are considered wise.
It's because they smash the magnifying glass.



lone_eagle25
Emu Egg
Emu Egg

User avatar

Joined: 3 Feb 2010
Age: 36
Gender: Male
Posts: 6

14 Feb 2010, 9:24 pm

This one is called Inside:

Inside


No one knows what lies inside
That’s the fun of it, taking that risk to venture into the unknown.
It could be happy faces, blue skies, and joyful music,
All woven into a celebration of joyful spirits.
Young children playing about,
Old people indulged in conversation,
Couples strolling along a grove of trees,
Happy to be alive, free, and being themselves.
Just being here, with no commitments to anywhere else.

Maybe it is nothing but a dark void,
Full of evil forces, tearing apart your mind and spirit.
Erie noises reverberating in your head,
The uncertainty of what lies in the darkness surrounding you.
Suffocating the essence of life you try to keep,
Making you feel so very small,
And lonely

It might contain a mass of madness.
People wandering about in mobs,
Dazed and confused,
Not knowing where they are going,
Why they are here,
Or who they are,
And not caring.
Bombs going off in the distance,
A symphony of gunfire, buildings collapsing,
And their world covered by horrid bloodshed.
Yet they keep going,
Because they are numb,
Oblivious to feeling emotions,
Unable to find the light at the end,
Lost forever in a sea of ambivalence.

But it is this vast realm that keeps us,
Giving a place to hide from the evils of reality,
Where you can cry,
Laugh,
Mourn,
Contemplate,
And then some,
With no one to bother you.
It allows us to be sane, to be healthy,
To be human.
It is our special place,
Inside.



Quinn
Emu Egg
Emu Egg

User avatar

Joined: 14 Feb 2010
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Posts: 4
Location: Unseen University

15 Feb 2010, 1:07 pm

Two poems of mine :)
WALL
Down with the wall
Down with the hatred
The suffering
The loneliness
We watched silently
Afraid to move
Ashamed as we saw his body
So delicate yet strong
The blood bleeding from the gashes
Mothers cry as they are reminded
Of their own
And we turn away
For yet again
This is normal
This is Berlin

Weeping Willow
Weeping willow Bradley
Was the best soldier in the south
Brave
And
Tough
Always
Cold, cold though
They said
He came alive in battle
And
He had a girl
Short and slim
Hair black as a raven's wing
She meant the world to him
She was a nurse
Was with him through thick and thin
When on a battlefield
She fell with a blood stained dress
It was enough for him to go mad
And
He did
He picked up her body
And
Sprinted through the crowd
Determined to
Kill, kill, kill
He slaughtered many
Then fled
The found him later with a cut throat and wrists
Embracing his love
Bleeding together
Under a weeping willow
On certain days in May
And
Times of peace
I swear I can still see them
Embracing
Hear the words he never managed to say
See him pale with burgundy blood
And
Her soft black hair on his shoulder



Andrijana
Emu Egg
Emu Egg

User avatar

Joined: 14 Feb 2010
Gender: Female
Posts: 6

15 Feb 2010, 3:13 pm

LOL... I liked it but, I can bet that 98% of people would wander what was there so important, on October 11? That's exactly what makes us different... and I am proud of it.
:D



DemonAbyss10
Veteran
Veteran

User avatar

Joined: 23 Aug 2007
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Posts: 2,492
Location: The Poconos, Pennsylvania

15 Feb 2010, 7:10 pm

Just a couple random things. I dont really do poetry but the first one is about as close to it as I get. A medal to whoever can guess the meanings behind these.


Choices, a freestyle whatever.

Upon the right path, hope.
Upon the left, despair.
Upon the right path, wealth.
Upon the left, poverty.

There are truly no absolutes;
for everything lies in gray.
There are no true endings;
Yet everything has a beginning.


And now for something a little different

What defines existence? What defines self? These are the vital questions to human existence. In fact, what truly defines the human psyche? Is it some goal one wants to work towards, or is it cast by stars at your date and time of birth. The answer to existence and self definition is simply the following: it is everything, yet it is simply nothing.


_________________
Myers Brigg - ISTP
Socionics - ISTx
Enneagram - 6w5

Yes, I do have a DeviantArt, it is at.... http://demonabyss10.deviantart.com/


TonyTheTiger
Blue Jay
Blue Jay

User avatar

Joined: 16 Dec 2009
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Posts: 94

05 Mar 2010, 7:46 pm

What the hell. Here is a poem I wrote, might not be finished.

Dog at an eating contest

It's here, it's here, it's here, it's here!
My favorite dog day of the year!
The fatass master's taking me there!
To the eat-a-thon at the county fair!

There are pies, and hot dogs, and burgers, oh my!
There's chocolate, but I can't eat that, or I'll die.
Master goes to the table and takes his seat.
He looks both ways, and I sneak underneath.
My tail starts wagging and going insane
from this crazy adrenaline I can't contain!

Men bring them the food, I can smell it from here!
The chicken, the funnel cakes, the tasty pig ears!
I want them all, if they drop it, I'll try it!
I'm just so excited, but I have to keep quiet!
The men starts eating at the sound of “Go!”
and the master will drop me some food, I just know!

The food comes very slow at first,
but stray bread crumbs are not the worst.
But after that drops a scrap of meat,
and I gobble it up, it tastes so sweet!
And soon enough, a hot dog falls!
Is it cannibalism? I don't care at all!



cosmiccat
Supporting Member
Supporting Member

User avatar

Joined: 5 Apr 2007
Gender: Female
Posts: 2,504
Location: Philadelphia

05 Mar 2010, 9:27 pm

@TonyTheTiger

That was an absolutely charming poem. I love it. I think it would make a great little book for children, illustrated. I can visualize it and think it would make kids happy. Not saying that adults wouldn't like it too. They would of course, just like they like Seuss and Shel Silverstein. Last line about cannibalism is perfect.



Auri
Hummingbird
Hummingbird

User avatar

Joined: 28 Dec 2009
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Posts: 21
Location: Maryland

07 Mar 2010, 2:55 am

As of now, I haven't really written any original work (though I've been kicking a few ideas around). I've instead focused on writing fanfiction, both parodic and serious in tone. I go by Auriella on fanfiction.net, so if you take a look and are familiar with the fandoms I write for, please read! The parodies I write tend to be more mature in language, so viewer discretion is advised, I guess?



Villette
Velociraptor
Velociraptor

User avatar

Joined: 7 Feb 2010
Age: 29
Gender: Female
Posts: 415

08 Mar 2010, 10:55 pm

Nick_Raven
Tufted Titmouse
Tufted Titmouse

User avatar

Joined: 14 Mar 2010
Age: 44
Gender: Female
Posts: 49
Location: Columbus, OH

23 Mar 2010, 12:01 pm

LinnaeusCat wrote:
This is meant to be somewhat tongue in cheek of course:

Poem Title: In the Beginning

I photocopy god
he smiles at me
between the rollers.

this is just a test
to see
if the settings are
good enough.

I begin to
edit markup
this sublime
creation with
ink-pen and blood.

His face floats
benevolently
in a sea of black.

Definitely,
too much toner.


Wow...a really cool and interesting poem. I like your last two lines, especially.


_________________
Nicole Nicholson
http://ravenswingpoetry.com <---Poetry Blog
http://womanwithaspergers.wordpress.com <---Asperger's Blog

"Never let go of that fiery sadness called desire." -- Patti Smith


Nick_Raven
Tufted Titmouse
Tufted Titmouse

User avatar

Joined: 14 Mar 2010
Age: 44
Gender: Female
Posts: 49
Location: Columbus, OH

23 Mar 2010, 12:05 pm

A good percentage of my stuff is on my blog, but I thought I'd share something from there on here as well as part of this thread. My poems tend to be pretty long, but I picked a shorter piece called "Backwards". Feel free to comment. :)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Backwards: how to walk it
is the question. It involves paper, microfilm, and
old stories. Names are Gospel,
passed from lips to ears. Footprints stay put when
written down.

Blood. How to divine it,
borrow Joseph’s Egyptian cup to find you. Walk backwards
through a chain of men: Dad, Grandpa, Great-grandpa Thomas,
and back to you: Jefferson, the first of our line
in this land. Named for a president that you shared no blood, tongue, or
coasts with. The Book of Nicholson, chapter one, verse one,
with a hole in the parchment where ink should be. I want to
walk through my veins to find you.

I know that somewhere, there is
a mountain range of ash. It is made out of
piles of powder from spent joss sticks. They are
lying in testament to your absent picture: maybe it
broke apart somewhere in North Carolina, and I will find
bits of its celluloid scattered in the dirt of Warren County. I don’t know
where your old plantation is. Maybe I should find it,
sneak past a guardian fence, and ask the trees. Maybe I should
find the tree that holds your breath in its trunk, those
buried anthologies in its rings. The bark can hold you,
but it cannot hide you for long. It will give you up to me,
decadent and green,
wearing someone else’s last name,
the child of ship and chains.

And somewhere within your renamed chest, there is
a drumbeat heart. I can hear it. It is like my own. It is
borrowed Congo, reassembled Gold and Ivory Coasts. It has
a name. But I cannot yet divine it. Not past
slavery, not past foreign tongues and forgotten names. But I will
learn how to walk backwards,
through paper and film,
through blood the color of diasporas, stolen land,
and one-drop rules. To find you, I will learn how to walk backwards
through myself.

Original Poem Here


_________________
Nicole Nicholson
http://ravenswingpoetry.com <---Poetry Blog
http://womanwithaspergers.wordpress.com <---Asperger's Blog

"Never let go of that fiery sadness called desire." -- Patti Smith


pakled
Veteran
Veteran

User avatar

Joined: 12 Nov 2007
Age: 63
Gender: Male
Posts: 7,015

24 Mar 2010, 12:06 pm

I don't do poetry, don't have the gift. Here's some of the prose, a start of a story I just finished.

It was on a Wednesday, October 8th, 1890, that the tale begins. Alexander Lennox, or Baron Warner, and his new wife, Patience, would arrive on Boston to meet officially with Athene and Arnold Pushman of the railroad Pushmans, to see about dealing with the explosion of technology that had flowered during the last 19th Century.
The invention of a steam turbine engine, lighter and stronger than any previous, had made the new Dirigible (or as the Germans called it, the Zeppelin) a coming thing in transportation across the Atlantic. Soon the skies would be dark with lighter-than-air ships transporting in days what ships might require weeks. Thinking ahead, introductions had been made, and the Baron and his wife would be meeting the Pushmans for dinner and entertainment. While there, they could discuss the integration and inventions necessary to bring the two modes of transport together.

Baron Warner was a tall man, impeccably tailored, with brown hair and brown eyes, as was his wife, a comely lady who was quite well proportioned They would met the Pushmans for the official business, and then move to the unofficial business, and the true reason of their journey.

Yeah, it's Steampunk.


_________________
anahl nathrak, uth vas bethude, doth yel dyenvey...


zee
Veteran
Veteran

User avatar

Joined: 18 Jul 2007
Age: 40
Gender: Female
Posts: 1,280
Location: on a cloud

25 Mar 2010, 12:24 pm

Nick_Raven wrote:
A good percentage of my stuff is on my blog, but I thought I'd share something from there on here as well as part of this thread. My poems tend to be pretty long, but I picked a shorter piece called "Backwards". Feel free to comment. :)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Backwards: how to walk it
is the question. It involves paper, microfilm, and
old stories. Names are Gospel,
passed from lips to ears. Footprints stay put when
written down.

Blood. How to divine it,
borrow Joseph’s Egyptian cup to find you. Walk backwards
through a chain of men: Dad, Grandpa, Great-grandpa Thomas,
and back to you: Jefferson, the first of our line
in this land. Named for a president that you shared no blood, tongue, or
coasts with. The Book of Nicholson, chapter one, verse one,
with a hole in the parchment where ink should be. I want to
walk through my veins to find you.

I know that somewhere, there is
a mountain range of ash. It is made out of
piles of powder from spent joss sticks. They are
lying in testament to your absent picture: maybe it
broke apart somewhere in North Carolina, and I will find
bits of its celluloid scattered in the dirt of Warren County. I don’t know
where your old plantation is. Maybe I should find it,
sneak past a guardian fence, and ask the trees. Maybe I should
find the tree that holds your breath in its trunk, those
buried anthologies in its rings. The bark can hold you,
but it cannot hide you for long. It will give you up to me,
decadent and green,
wearing someone else’s last name,
the child of ship and chains.

And somewhere within your renamed chest, there is
a drumbeat heart. I can hear it. It is like my own. It is
borrowed Congo, reassembled Gold and Ivory Coasts. It has
a name. But I cannot yet divine it. Not past
slavery, not past foreign tongues and forgotten names. But I will
learn how to walk backwards,
through paper and film,
through blood the color of diasporas, stolen land,
and one-drop rules. To find you, I will learn how to walk backwards
through myself.

Original Poem Here


I love it. Reminds me of Irving Layton, do you read him?



Ackman
Veteran
Veteran

User avatar

Joined: 18 Jun 2009
Age: 169
Gender: Male
Posts: 2,521
Location: The Creedon Republic

25 Mar 2010, 12:44 pm

This is a story I submitted to Fanfiction.net My handle on that website is Sam Pembroke.

Emily: The other Bukater girl




Emily had been staying at the Bukater's while Victoria was away in Europe on business. For Rose, this was a chance to be with the sister she never had. Right away however, she noticed that Emily was not like her in any way. Unlike Rose, Emily was afraid to to anything that ventured out of the ordinary, for example When it snowed, Emily was afraid of playing in the snow. She had to be hit with a few snowballs to finally get the hint that you are supposed to throw them at each other. Perhaps what alarmed Rose the most, was the fact that Emily had to take a behavioral medication to keep her calm. This worried Rose, why? Because she could see what the world was trying to do to her sister. Perhaps what Emily couldn't understand about Rose, was that she was always so happy, and that happiness must be the only thing that she knew. To Emily, Rose's world was always happy, and that she had a loving, kind mother. Emily's adoptive mother, Victoria could sometimes be mean to her; saying things like “Emily, if you do not pour your tea correctly, I will punish you harshly by striking you with the rod twenty times. Do you understand me?” Usually, Emily complied. The first time Victoria struck her, she cried out, saying “Oh mother! Stop please! I didn't mean to do it.” You see, Emily was often times chided over her dress as well, one time; her pinafore was put on crooked, Victoria unbuttoned the article of clothing and made Emily do it again herself. She cried over having to do this.

The thought that her sister might see her medication, gave Emily such a terrible fright that she burst into tears when Rose saw it. Rose lent a comforting hand and Emily hugged her, saying “I hate taking this, my father makes me.” Emily then opened her trunk, showing Rose her corset. “Mother makes me wear this, it hurts me when I wear it. Your mother at least tries to make me comfortable when she helps me with it.” Emily said as she began to smile. Ruth, entered the room, and asked Emily to put on her corset. “Emily, I think it's best if I continue your waist training. Your mother will be gone for several months, and she has asked me to help you.” “All right, Mrs. Bukater” Emily said as she closed the front of her corset. She grabbed the post on the bed and Ruth pulled. “Does that hurt dear?” she said. “No, it doesn't hurt me. You do it more gently than mother does it.” “Emily, you know I'm friends with your mother. She always speaks so kindly of you in her letters. She loves you.” Rose watched as her mother pulled the laces at Emily's back. Soon, it was going to be her turn. “Rose, I will help you next. Sadie would have done it, but I asked her to do something else.” Ruth said, turning back towards Emily. “Mrs. Bukater, can I call you mother since you are technically my mother?” “Yes, but only here in the house.” she said as she gave Emily a kiss on the cheek. Emily felt good around Ruth, almost as though she knew that her mother was like herself at that age.

During tea in the Bukater household, Ruth and Rose normally sit in the dining room and talk to each other in a low tone. Often times, the discussion of the day would be what Rose had learned in school. When Emily was staying at the house however, the subject was Emily herself. On this particular day, Rose asked Emily what her normal routine is when she is at her own home in Piermont. “Oh, well I get up around 8:30 in the morning. Mother assists me in my dressing and then we eat breakfast. I usually stay home while she goes to the city to shop. She usually never brings me with her, and I wish she would.” She said as they continued with tea. “Emily, how does your mother lace your corset? Is she a tight lacer? Does she want to achieve a small waist with you, or is she training you because you are of the age?” Emily blushed. “I do not wish to talk of this subject. Can we talk of something else?” “Em, what mother is trying to ask you is that are you comfortable with how YOUR mother does it. I know you like how my mother does it, for she is gentle in HOW she does it.” Rose said. “Emily, I noticed that you have medication to take, I would just like to know what times you need to take it. Do you take it at bed time?” Ruth asked. Emily grew tense and choked up. “I..i.i..i don't like to talk about it.” Emily said, embarrassed. Ruth sensed embarrassment in Emily, and backed off the subject, possibly saving it for bed time discussion. “I just want you to feel your best” Ruth said.

At bedtime that night, Ruth sat on Emily's bed. “Emily, as your mother, I'd like to ask you about the medication. I know you don't like to talk about it, but please, for your own sake; I'd like to know your dosing schedule so that you may feel your best.” she said as she brushed a few stray hairs from Emily's face. “Mother, I dislike taking the medicine. If I don't take it, I get really excitable, and, well, well my other mother dislikes that. She told me that I needed to start acting like an adult, and that things like dolls and teddy bears are for little kids. I LIKE playing with paper dolls. I have a whole drawer full of them. At least she doesn't know about them. “Well Emily, I must say her parenting technique is different. I still do not understand why you talk down about her. She loves you very much, and I do too. I think that she spoils you because she cannot comprehend that you have needs like everyone else. I saw your room a few weeks ago, and it shocked me. Your bed is very large, and your closet is almost a separate room. What I think is, is that you've been put on this because THEY don't understand you darling. I do, and I want you to be free. You should be like a little girl.” Emily finally relented; “I take my medication at breakfast. Mother lets me wind down at bedtime.” With that, Ruth kissed Emily on the forehead and turned out the light. Emily drifted off to sleep.



Nick_Raven
Tufted Titmouse
Tufted Titmouse

User avatar

Joined: 14 Mar 2010
Age: 44
Gender: Female
Posts: 49
Location: Columbus, OH

30 Mar 2010, 10:18 am

zee wrote:
Nick_Raven wrote:
A good percentage of my stuff is on my blog, but I thought I'd share something from there on here as well as part of this thread. My poems tend to be pretty long, but I picked a shorter piece called "Backwards". Feel free to comment. :)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Backwards: how to walk it
is the question. It involves paper, microfilm, and
old stories. Names are Gospel,
passed from lips to ears. Footprints stay put when
written down.

Blood. How to divine it,
borrow Joseph’s Egyptian cup to find you. Walk backwards
through a chain of men: Dad, Grandpa, Great-grandpa Thomas,
and back to you: Jefferson, the first of our line
in this land. Named for a president that you shared no blood, tongue, or
coasts with. The Book of Nicholson, chapter one, verse one,
with a hole in the parchment where ink should be. I want to
walk through my veins to find you.

I know that somewhere, there is
a mountain range of ash. It is made out of
piles of powder from spent joss sticks. They are
lying in testament to your absent picture: maybe it
broke apart somewhere in North Carolina, and I will find
bits of its celluloid scattered in the dirt of Warren County. I don’t know
where your old plantation is. Maybe I should find it,
sneak past a guardian fence, and ask the trees. Maybe I should
find the tree that holds your breath in its trunk, those
buried anthologies in its rings. The bark can hold you,
but it cannot hide you for long. It will give you up to me,
decadent and green,
wearing someone else’s last name,
the child of ship and chains.

And somewhere within your renamed chest, there is
a drumbeat heart. I can hear it. It is like my own. It is
borrowed Congo, reassembled Gold and Ivory Coasts. It has
a name. But I cannot yet divine it. Not past
slavery, not past foreign tongues and forgotten names. But I will
learn how to walk backwards,
through paper and film,
through blood the color of diasporas, stolen land,
and one-drop rules. To find you, I will learn how to walk backwards
through myself.

Original Poem Here


I love it. Reminds me of Irving Layton, do you read him?


I have never read Layton...but now I'll have to check him out, once you've mentioned him.

And thank you. :)


_________________
Nicole Nicholson
http://ravenswingpoetry.com <---Poetry Blog
http://womanwithaspergers.wordpress.com <---Asperger's Blog

"Never let go of that fiery sadness called desire." -- Patti Smith


Ackman
Veteran
Veteran

User avatar

Joined: 18 Jun 2009
Age: 169
Gender: Male
Posts: 2,521
Location: The Creedon Republic

02 Apr 2010, 1:03 am

Ruth DeWitt looked up at the buildings that composed Broadacres Children’s Psychiatric Institute. “Come on Ruth!” her mother had hissed. She didn’t want to go inside, but the insistent prodding from her mother made her pick up her feet and move. “Mama, I don’t want to be here. I don’t know why I have to go away for a month?” her mother simply looked at her and then suddenly the guilt came into her mind. She had sold her daughter out; of course it was easy to do to a thirteen year old child. “Ruth, I’m sorry but your father and I discussed this and we thought it was best for you. We do love you very much, and this is because we love you.” Ruth said nothing as they entered. As they were entering, a nurse greeted them; she looked Ruth up and down. “Mrs. DeWitt, we will take your daughter from here, she’s in good hands.” The white clad nurse said; reassuringly. Ruth took a look back at her mother, who, by then turned away.
Ruth DeWitt was born in February of 1870, but her mother died in childbirth. Soon after however, her father, Jonathan DeWitt had remarried a beautiful red haired woman from Southampton, England named Edith Hatch. The marriage, while happy, often left Ruth longing for the affection of her step mother. Ruth’s medium stature and her brilliant emerald green eyes often made her the talk of the parties her parents hosted. While she was carefree in certain areas, others, she was particularly sensitive to, such as the fact that she had a wild temper and free spirit. To Edith, these could be particularly dangerous things, and so, she took Ruth to see Dr. Howard Ilivicki, a famed child psychologist and behavioral specialist. Ruth saw this as a death sentence. Before this, was the attempt to run away to Vermont, but unfortunately, she was overheard by Edith, and then the discussion began.
The nurse had lead Ruth to a small room, and closed the door. “I will help you unbutton your dress. You will have to wear this instead.” The nurse began to tell Ruth, as she was pointing to her hospital uniform. Ruth then noticed a small cup on the table next to her. “Here is also your first dose of medicine, due to the side effects of the medicine you will also have to wear one of these.” The nurse said in a calm voice. Ruth glanced over at the diaper, and knew that she would be forced to wear it. “I’m sorry Ruth, but could you please lie down so I can remove your bloomers?” Ruth complied and the nurse slid the bloomers off of Ruth and placed the diaper, which had pictures of hearts on it onto Ruth. “There, the reason you must wear this, is because the medication makes you have urinary incontinence.
After she changed into her new set of clothes, Ruth was walked to her room. This room was smaller than her own back at her house. The bed, which looked no larger than one for a small child seemed so foreign to Ruth, whom was accustomed to her rather large bed, which was covered in two blankets and a large quilt atop of it all. “I don’t like this bed, it looks too small.” She told the nurse. “Miss DeWitt, beggars cannot be choosers, I’m sure your parents have taught you this before.” The nurse calmly told her. Ruth, seeing as though she was defeated simply said “Yes Mam.” Across from the small bed, lay a window, and beneath the window, was a small vanity. Ruth walked over to the vanity and peered into the mirror “Look at me, in this shithole, all locked up; only to be restrained, only to piss myself and be on some awful medication. Yes! Look at me. Aren’t I special?” she thought to herself. Suddenly, a tear fell down her cheek. “Miss, are you alright?” The nurse asked, trying to comfort her new charge. “Go away.” Ruth said in a choked back tone. “Miss, unless you tell me what’s going on, I have to stay with you.” “GO AWAY! PLEASE!!” Ruth shouted back. The nurse left.
Ruth wasn’t sure how long she had been crying, but it was dark when she came back to her senses. Outside in the dim lights, she could see that snow was falling. “Look how pretty it is outside Ruth. Don’t you wish you could go outside?” That’s what her father Jonathan would say when it snowed. It was this thought that created a fresh batch of tears. Suddenly, she heard the door open; it was the same nurse from earlier. “Ruth, it is time to eat. Since you are new, you will eat in your room tonight, after you eat, I will make sure you are dry, and you will get ready for some quiet activities. That night’s meal of soup and a sandwich made Ruth even more homesick. Dinner around her house was an affair that was never to be missed. Edith and Jonathan occupied each head of the table, and the children would be seated at the sides. There was interesting conversation and of course, good food.
“Ruth, it sure looks like it’s coming down out there. Tomorrow it looks like the snow will stop. I will wheel you outside tomorrow and you can play in the snow if you like; and you can meet the other children as well. They’re all excited to meet you.” The nurse said enthusiastically. After Ruth was prepared for bed, she slid under the scratchy blanket, and stared out of the window. “My, it really does look beautiful” she thought to herself. Suddenly a large gust of wind blew a barrage of snowflakes. The storm was about to go into a lull, but Ruth couldn’t sense it. Normally when it snowed, she would go out with her father to look at the storm, but now that she was in an institution, she couldn’t; upon realizing this, Ruth began to silently cry. “No one loves me now. I wish I could be loved.” She said to herself between sobs.
The next morning, Ruth awoke and looked out the window at the snow covered ground. “Wow! It looks like it’s a foot deep.” She quietly said to herself. The wind blew stray snow crystals off of the roof and sent them blowing into her face, much like a smoker would puff their smoke in her direction. As soon as she settled back into her bed, the door opened and two nurses entered; one with her medication, and the other with her breakfast. “Good morning Ruth. We hope that your first night here at the Broadacres Children’s Psychiatric Institute was a nice one and not scary.” Ruth looked at the nurse and said that “No, it wasn’t scary at all. I was not frightened.” The nurse looked at her in agreement. Ruth was dressed and prepared for the day. “Now, it’s time to meet the other girls in the ward. They are all happy to meet you.” Her nurse explained. Ruth braced herself.
Upon entering the main room of her ward, Ruth was met by a barrage of girls, as young as eleven and as old as sixteen. “Hello, my name is Jessica. I’m from Dartmouth. Do you like it here?” one had said. Another said “You better not be one of those types that thinks they’re a princess. I HATE those kinds.” Ruth didn’t quite know what to think of her new friends. She sat at a table, where the girl from Dartmouth was sitting. “Jessica, I’m from Wenham, but I live in Gregstown.” Jessica looked directly in her eyes and said; “my aunt lived there, she died in childbirth, and I heard that the baby died as well. I’m here for another month, and then I’m going to be released. I pulled a stunt where my mother put me here. She thinks I’m suicidal. I’m really not.” Ruth just nodded her head in agreement. “So, what are you in here for?” Jessica asked. “Well, my parents think that my temper is really bad. I’m here to see Dr. Ilivicki. He sounds scary and mean, worse than my mother. They gave me this medication and it really makes me feel weird.” Ruth said as a nurse brought over the medication. “Here you go Ruth, Jessica, here are your pills.” The nurse said and quickly left. As soon as the nurse was gone, Jessica stuffed the pills into her shirt. “Why did you do that? Aren’t they supposed to help you?” Ruth asked. “Well, they do help, I just stick them in my camisole until later, but mostly, I throw them out.
So far, Ruth felt out of place at Broadacres. She didn’t like it, but was afraid to show that she didn’t like it. Today was Ruth’s first encounter with Dr. Ilivicki. At approximately 10 AM, Ruth was walked down to the office, and was told to sit in a chair. Suddenly, a door opened, and a man with a nasal, Brookline accent called out “Ruth DeWitt? Ruth DeWitt? Are you here?” Ruth, not wanting to hear the man ask again, said “here” in a polite tone of voice. Once Ruth was inside, the man closed the door. “Ms. DeWitt, would you please sit down?” The man said. Ruth sat, and so did the man. “Ms. DeWitt?” the man said. “Yes?” Ruth softly replied. “I’m Dr. Howard James Ilivicki. I am the head doctor here at Broadacres Institute. I have heard that you have a temper problem. Little girl, one must not have such problems.” He said in a somewhat stern, but quiet voice. “Your mother came to me, looking for a solution. I have one. She says that she receives nothing but resentment. Why? Why do you not love her? It can be said that a child needs their mother’s love, but sometimes there are children who do not wish to have their love.” He continued. “Ruth, I think your problem is that you expect so much from her. She loves you unconditionally. This is where your temper becomes a problem. I have seen children like yourself, and I have been known to fix any temper that is a problem.” He finished.
“How, Mr. Ilivicki? How can I solve my temper? I knew my mother was plotting against me. I feel the urge to act badly, but I do not mean it.” Ruth gently said. “I know. The next time we meet, I will ask you some questions.” Dr. Ilivicki said. Ruth was walked out of the office, and back to her ward. When she arrived, she found Jessica sitting at the table in the main room. Ruth walked over to the table, and instantly, Jessica struck a conversation. “I see they didn’t cut your hair yet.” Ruth looked puzzled. “Ruth, the secret to Dr. Ilivickis’ plan, is that he uses electricity on the patients to train them to stop having a behavior problem. I’ve had it done to me. Look at me, I look damaged. My blonde hair is shaved, and I wish it were still here!” Jessica cried. Ruth began to have a feeling of terror rise in her throat. She came close to Jessica, and began to talk low. “I’m scared. I’m scared that this will happen to me. I don’t want this to happen to me.” Tears had begun to well up in Ruth’s eyes as she said this. “If it helps, we can talk about something else.” Jessica suggested. “Sure” is all Ruth could say.
In their discussion, Ruth learned that Jessica was indeed from Dartmouth. Why was she out here? Ruth had wondered. Jessica of course was one step ahead of Ruth. “Ruth, I’m here because this is the only hospital that will help someone like me. To be my age and to have these thoughts .If only I could have stolen my grandfather’s pistol and pulled the trigger!” Ruth became mortified. “Jessica, don’t talk of such things, they can hurt you, perhaps even kill you!” Ruth had said in horror. “Ruth, the one thing you don’t understand is that in my family, you have to be extremely intelligent and competitive to have affection from anyone. My mother brought me here to get rid of me. I’m getting out in a month though, and I’m happy.” Ruth continued to look at Jessica; there was something about the girl that made Ruth sorry, yet curious. “I’m also leaving in a month. Mother thinks that I’m too wild and carefree. She has told me that thirteen year olds are expected to be mature, and make decisions on their own.” Jessica had found a reply to this remark, and somehow it made its way to her lips. “Ruth, parents don’t know their children. It seems that there are so many rules. I wish I were poor.” Ruth became mortified at the very sentence “I wish I were poor” She replied to Jessica in the sense that she was not the wealthiest person in her city of Gregstown, but was happy where her family was. “I’m not poor and I’m not rich. I’m proud of what my father does.” She said.
At around 2 PM, the nurses gathered all of the girls and led them outside. When they were all outside, some went instantly for the snow to throw it at each other. Ruth however, wanted no part of making snowballs and having snowball fights, for she’d rather make snowmen and other creatures out of snow. “Ruth, won’t you come join us in a snowball fight? If not, then I’ll be forced to take you as a prisoner.” An older girl had said. “No” Ruth replied. “Well why the f**k won’t you want to join us? What are you some sort of princess? Are you a prissy little kid? How old are you? Nine or ten, what!?!?” Ruth ignored it at first, but then the girl struck a nerve. “I bet you probably wear those tight corsets and sit around in tight clothes, with servants waiting on hand and foot! I saw you come here the other day, with your little hat and your dark blue suit, your petticoat was showing from the bottom of the skirt. I would imagine it is of the finest lace. Oh yes, I’m quite sure.” Hearing this girl talk of her in a vulgar fashion, incensed Ruth to the point where all she could see in her vision were flames. “f**k you! Do you really know anything about me? I bet you’re one of those girls whose mother is a whore and your father is probably screwing every single woman who’s looking for her next lay. I’m sure you probably saw my dress the other day and you became jealous of it. For your information, I hate corsets, and I think they’re torture for me. That’s what I think.” The girl didn’t want to hear Ruth speak any more, so she threw a chunk of ice in her face. From then on, Ruth was out for blood. Tears came into Ruth’s eyes as she rubbed her face; she had been cut. Suddenly, laughter erupted from the enemy camp, and Ruth became the victim of more snowball throwing. She screamed, and the nurses came to see what was happening. “Stop it! Enough of the throwing” The nurse cried. “Oh my god Ruth, are you okay? You’re cut and you’re bleeding profusely. We had better get you bandaged up.” They took Ruth into the nurses’ station, sat her up on a table, and cleaned her wounds. From now on, Ruth didn’t want to go outside.
Ruth spent the rest of the afternoon in her room, when after dark, two nurses entered her room. Both told Ruth to be quiet. “Ruth, what you did today is uncalled for, and will cost you some free time. We have to get you ready for your hair cut. Just be quiet, don’t speak.” Ruth knew what was going to happen now. She had allegedly misbehaved and was going to get shocked, for sure this would happen. Then, her door opened up again, and this time, two men were along side. “Okay Ruth, time to go for a little ride okay?” Ruth spoke. “No, I want my mother. Please get her!” One of the aides said; “Be quiet, your mother cannot come, she’s at home.” Ruth was hoisted onto the bed and tied down. From there, she was wheeled to this bright room. Instantaneously, the sound of hair trimmers was evident. Ruth felt the aides cut most of her hair off. “Please don’t! Please don’t cut my hair off, I beg you.” Ruth screamed as she felt the hair trimmer on her head. The tears flowed freely down her cheeks. As soon as it had started, it was over. Soon, Ruth saw a familiar figure: Doctor Ilivicki. “Hello Ruth, I see that you have gotten yourself into a situation. You do realize that with that temper of yours you will get into trouble.” He grabbed a device that looked like headphones; Ruth looked at them with curiosity. “What are those?” she asked. “These, Ruth will help you get rid of that temper. We just slip them on, and you won’t have another temper tantrum.” Ruth foolishly believed him.
What Ruth felt next, was pure pain, and ecstasy; the current made Ruth convulse and squirm, and it seemed to have felt like hours, when in reality it lasted a mere eight seconds. After her thrashing was finished, the doctor gave the signal to take off the headphones and to loosen the straps that held her down. “I want my mother.” Ruth said weakly. The nurse put Ruth in a wheel chair and wheeled her back to her ward. By the time they had finished, it was midnight. “Here Ruth, you just lie on the bed, we’ll get you ready for bed.” Ruth drifted off to sleep. The next morning, Ruth found herself very hungry. Ruth ate her breakfast with much gusto; to Ruth oatmeal was something she hated, actually more than hated, to her it was like death, but this time she loved it, and ate it in great gulps. A nurse had entered the room, and handed Ruth an envelope. Ruth opened the envelope, to find that it contained a letter from her sister, whom Ruth loved very much.
“Dear Ruth,
I heard that you were getting help for your anger problems. Mother says that she regrets what she has done to you. She cries every day because of this. Father is thinking of taking you out of the institution, but mother reassures him that you’re coming home in two weeks. I cannot wait for you to come home; the two little kids are really starting to get on my nerves with their incessant whining. I have tried to come visit you, but mother and father said that I shouldn’t see you like this. I told them that I miss you, and that I would write if I couldn’t see you. I will see you in two weeks. I’m sure you miss me terribly.
Your loving sister,
Elizabeth

Ruth read the letter and suddenly, she became excited! She was going to see her father and the rest of her family again. Surely, the rest of the time would pass quickly, and it did. Two days before she was to go home, Dr. Ilivicki came to visit her in her room. He sat in a chair, and began to speak; “Ruth, I see that you are going home in two days. Please understand that you must continue to take the medication, it will continue to help you manage your temper. As with now, you must continue to wear protection under your clothing, due to occasional accidents.” Ruth looked at the doctor with horror; “What if my sister sees them?” she asked in fear. “Do not fret, they are discreet, however, changing them will be difficult, you have to lie on a flat surface and have an adult change you.” He said. As he was leaving, Ruth turned back towards the window, watching the clouds float in the sky. “I’m going to see mama soon!” she said to herself. The rest of the two days passed without note. Today was going to be the big day. “Well, Ruth; are you ready to go?” the nurse asked Ruth. Ruth let out a big yes. They escorted Ruth down a flight of stairs, and ahead, there was a familiar figure: her mother. “Mama” Ruth cried out as she ran to her. Ruth didn’t quite make it, for she nearly collapsed, luckily for her, Edith walked over, and broke her fall. “Ruth, you’ll hurt yourself.” She laughed. Ruth gave her mother a hug with all the strength she could muster.
“I’m glad you’re coming home Ruth. I missed you terribly. Everyone missed you terribly, in fact the ones who took it the worst, were the little ones. Jessie and Carl have really missed you, it really became apparent after they kept asking us where you were and when you were coming home.” Edith said to Ruth in a gentle tone. “Mama, I love you, I really do. I will be a good girl from now on. I promise.” Edith heard this from her daughter, and realized “My god, she is very different from the girl that I had dropped off a month prior. This almost worries me.” She silently thought to herself. As they drove through the streets of Gregstown, Ruth saw the familiar places and buildings. “There’s the abandoned house on Ferry Street.” She said to her mother. Edith nodded in acknowledgement with Ruth. Ruth saw a familiar place: her home. Standing outside, was her father. Papa! Ruth uttered, as she had seen him sitting on the porch. Edith stopped the car, and Ruth got out. She quickly walked over to him, and embraced him. To Jonathan, seeing his daughter made him forget all of the troubles and problems that had bothered him. To him, seeing his little girl made him carefree. He called for Lizzie, who ran outside in her stocking feet. It was a happy time in the DeWitt household.