Contest: 300 characters about today - 13

hive-166850 (60)owner@wakucat Steem Witnessin CCC • 4 days ago

Contest: 300 characters about today - 9

The topic of this contest is: today

Use 300 characters exactly. Read the rules before you submit.

Rules:

Upvote this contest
English language (or add translation)
Use 300 characters (not words) exactly
Tip use: https://wordcounter.net/
Post into this community @hive-166850 plus use the tag #ccc and #wewrite
Leave the link to your entry in the comment section.
Three valid entries are needed to choose a winner
Deadline: till the next contest is posted

Prizes

upvote all valid entries: 100% (@wakeupkitty/@wakucat)
Total of prize 6 SP/UVF
Reward button best commenter and... surprise, surprise (there is support! ).

Example

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ChYr1cJZCH5JkqXe3tdrNiB7sRxTnhdm6CFm8J2c3fftEJX9aUuzhtjUTmmbJsrfWPS4hWG4aKbj2tTXAx98uQvE83jcJky55k6gd3MZdLpEzyxw4PP2MZMZUrqR8QWU2wftCDrnmGxGTQb7jEaH67SXB982i4k8tbsfJhcRgx6uCGAsU1yrmXGW7Ftuk2.jpeg

_{@disconnect

#ccc #wewrite #today #contest #creativewriting #steemexclusive}

#ccc #wewrite #today #creativewriting #steemexclusive

4 days ago in CCC by hive-166850 (60)owner@wakucat Steem Witness

$5.20

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almaguer (65)member 🦤 17 hours ago

Island and Art

We have 995 pelicans swirling around. Since they are noisy birds, I have decided to use a rifle. An old rifle with poorly made bullets. But I need gunpowder and lead. Art as a creative necessity. Something that grows in the cracks of the soul. It is fire and it is peace. I know the paths of art. Survival or stillness.

I can emerge from the darkness with my art. Transcend borders, levitate. Leave traces while the pelicans have returned to their fishing. In this distant closeness, provided to us by the internet, we are more than just dust returning to the earth. It is the enigma of what does not appear on the skin. It is a part that is there, even if they are clocks in other compasses, on other walls. The light doesn't matter, we have walls to smear with colors, rye, oats, pink pelicans that later become a nuisance, but we love them. They keep dying, I keep being left in the dark on a small island, in the middle of nowhere. I feel like an old bard. I wish for the sea and its turquoise colors or crabs blooming. Migrating. Wanting to live opportunities, they might be crushed on their journey to the sea.

We have lead to spare, 3789 homemade bullets. The pelicans are soft on the outside, I could use two bullets for each one and I would still have material of death.

Art. What a paltry way to call that thing we feel; in the beginning, we all had the gift, but it was shed every second, like skin cells, we were losing the gift of creation every second. We left for the cities, we began to make beautiful statues, we used stone, marble, bronze, we let the sunlight kiss them and create new shapes in the shadows. But we kept shedding particles, less human, more clumsy, more cruel. Some realized it. They tried to stop the constant flow; they were called artists, madmen, hermits.

The rest remained stuck to jobs, everything began to turn gray, now art is laughable, something that was forgotten.

I just want to kill pelicans. I try. I aim at them and I become petrified.

Isla y arte

Tenemos 995 pelicanos revoloteando. Como son aves ruidosas, he decidido usar un rifle. Un viejo rifle con balas fabricadas de mala calidad. Pero necesito pólvora y plomo. El arte como una necesidad creativa. Algo que crece en los resquicios del alma. Es fuego y es paz. Conozco los derroteros del arte. Supervivencia o quietud.
Puedo salir de las tinieblas con mi arte. Traspasar fronteras, levitar. Dejar huellas mientras los pelicanos han vuelto a su faena de pesca. En esta lejana cercanía, que nos procura la internet, somos más que polvo de regreso a la tierra. Es el enigma de lo que no figura sobre la piel. Es una parte que está, aunque sean relojes en otros compases, en otras paredes. No importa la luz, tenemos paredes para embadurnar de colores, centeno, avena, pelicanos rosados que luego molestan, pero amamos. Siguen muriendo, me sigo quedando a oscuras en una pequeña isla, en medio de la nada. Me siento como un bardo viejo. Desearía el mar y sus colores turquesa o cangrejos floreciendo. Emigrando. Queriendo vivir oportunidades, puede que los aplasten en su recorrido al mar.
Tenemos plomo de sobra, 3789 balas caseras. Los pelicanos son blandos por fuera, podría emplear dos balas para cada uno y seguiría teniendo material de muerte.
El arte. Menuda forma de llamar a eso que sentimos, en el principio todos teníamos el don, pero se desprendía cada segundo, como las células de la piel, íbamos eliminando el don de crear cada segundo. Partimos a las ciudades, comenzamos a hacer hermosas estatuas, usamos la piedra, el mármol, el bronce, dejamos que la luz del sol las besara y creara nuevas formas en la sombra. Pero seguíamos desprendiendo partículas, menos humanos, más torpes, más crueles. Algunos se dieron cuenta. Trataron de parar el constante fluir, los llamaron artistas, locos, ermitaños.
El resto quedó prendido a trabajos, todo comenzó a volverse gris, ya el arte es irrisorio, algo que quedó en el olvido.
Yo solo quiero matar pelicanos. Lo intento. Les apunto y quedo petrificado.

$2.22

3 votes

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almaguer (65)member 🦤 17 hours ago (edited)

@wakeupkitty, @solperez

$0.00

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steemcurator09 (52) 16 hours ago

Art. What a paltry way to call that thing we feel; in the beginning, we all had the gift, but it was shed every second, like skin cells, we were losing the gift of creation every second. We left for the cities, we began to make beautiful statues, we used stone, marble, bronze, we let the sunlight kiss them and create new shapes in the shadows. But we kept shedding particles, less human, more clumsy, more cruel. Some realized it. They tried to stop the constant flow; they were called artists, madmen, hermits.

It sounds so sad and hopeless.

We can get after the pelicans first and change the world. They could fly you or explode the island

I saw a gunshop, no ID needed. I could use one after my experience this morning in the metro.

$0.00

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solperez (75)member 14 hours ago

Deseo volar hasta ti, no estaría mal hacerlo como un pelícano, para sacarte de tu hermosa isla con toda tu familia, y esperar a que pase la tormenta, para que luego retornes a ella, y logres armar con ánimo y esperanza una vida mejor para ti y para los tuyos. Mientras tanto no dejes de soñar, ni de escribir, ni de pintar, y muchos menos de amar, que en muchos lugares del mundo deseamos que sonrías y estés tranquilo. Te quiero con la energía abrasadora del sol. Un abrazo.

$0.00

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