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Writers Write offers the best writing courses in South Africa. Writers Write – Write to communicate
Are you looking for more writing prompts? Click here
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Writers Write offers the best writing courses in South Africa. Writers Write – Write to communicate
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Molly is 14 and she enjoys running. The trouble is that she was not brought up being given the opportunity of a great deal of exercise so she gets tired quite quickly.
If she plans to run a 5 kilometer race she will need to sit down and rest after each kilometer. Fortunately she now lives in the Cotswolds which are very beautiful and she can readily enjoy her surroundings whether she is running, walking or sitting.
My daughter, loving me
But torn by D-I-V-O-R-C-E
No simple heart could know
The pain that is crow
The death you feel
Making hard choices
Loving even the pain
As you go ?
Jesamine was always outdoors, loved to be without walls. Her vibrant color clothes and choice of nail polish made all the girls hate her because none of them could be as confident looking like she just stepped out of a pastel art book and the stripes in her hair were often closer to the colors she wore than the natural brunette she was.
Outside the box, outside of rules, regulations and ideals of beauty and to me that made her more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen. I was instantly in love with the girl with the bubble-gum pink hair and nails … and more than anything I loved to photograph her. She didn’t understand why I always took pictures of her until I asked her to show me that beautiful smile I loved so much and the look on her face made my camera drop … and my hand click the shutter button click this picture.
She interlocked her fingers because she needed a hand to hold. She was now alone, far away from her Upper East Side life, with no where to turn but to the large sea of darkness in her fore.
It had become cloudy, as her skin turned from porcelain to violet. Goosebumps ran over her body from the icy breeze and her questioning regret. A girl of 13, to woman of 13, this had changed her. Foreign to the sea, she felt so small — it soothed her from what she had done. She was free, and it scared her. Unleashed from her controlled life, and no sight of what lied ahead. An older man with frosty skin approached in the distance, retreating inland. “You must start heading back, mad’am, as the tide is quickly rising.” The girl stood slowly, not sure where to fleet next. The man offered to buy her a cup of tea from a nearby cafe. Hesitantly, she agreed. Her first page of a new book began when he asked “What’s your name?”