Songbird - Write on Wednesday

I'm not gonna lie. I cheated this week -_-. This was actually written for a school assignment in May (tenth to be exact). Time doesn't seem to be hanging around much this week so this will have to do. The song is Starry Night by Don McLean (I like it better when Josh Groban sings it).

    A gust of wind carrying the heady perfume of honeysuckle rustled the pages of his book. Don was momentarily disrupted from his careful observation of Starry Night. He blinked a few times to bring himself back to reality. Inside, he was filled with inexplicable sadness at the life of the genius ignored. As Don thought about the people he loved, he marveled at the fortitude of the artist. He was sure he would have caved in earlier had he been in van Gogh's place.
    Examining the painting once more, Don realized the swirling hues common in Vincent's work had a story to tell. With a surge of inspiration and the urge to return something to the painter, Don reached for the notebook and guitar that were always within reach. He let the colors wash over his soul before beginning his task.
    The words began to flow from his pen to the paper, each one coming alive to express the beauty of the paintings and painter alike. Don reached into his innermost being as he tried to recreate van Gogh's masterpieces in human language, ever careful to let each piece speak for itself. The flowers, the seasons, and the people no one ever bothered to look at twice must have been precious to the artist or he would never have taken the time to paint them. If they were important enough to catch Vincent's eye, then they must be important to the song as well.
    The final words were written and Don began to coax a tune from his guitar, letting the music come to him as he had done with the story. The melody came out as sweet and passionate as the lyrics and paintings. The sound of the final composition drifted from the balcony down to the people passing by. Vincent's message was not lost.

To read Vincent van Gogh's (or what I imagine it to be) point of view go here.

This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you

-_-' Please ignore the silly look on Josh's face. This beautiful song is one that I can listen to over and over again. It got me interested in the work of Vincent Van Gogh, so when my English teacher assigned us a creative paper to write I naturally thought of him and his masterpiece Starry Night. The following is a fiction piece of what I imagine was going through his mind at the time he painted one of his most celebrated paintings. Note that I specifically mentioned it was fiction. This work is not entirely accurate historically.


    A soft breeze stirred the trees outside, but Vincent couldn't see it happen. The room he had been placed in had only a small window far above his head. Sometimes, he would stand on his bed and try to capture as much beauty as the view could afford but not tonight. Tonight felt urgent, as if the time he had on Earth was coming to an end. He had an important task to finish. Vincent paused to examine the work in progress. In his mind he could still clearly see that starry night long ago. He closed his eyes to drink the memory in completely.
   
    It was a summer night, and although Vincent could have gone on painting forever, the beauty beyond his window beckoned. As he walked, he smiled to himself. The town was perfect. Already he had painted the various people he had observed carrying out their daily tasks.
    The path he was on led to the woods, but Vincent stopped at the top of a hill situated on the outskirts of town. His painter's eyes took in the scenery, starting with the glittering stars. They looked  as if someone had meticulously glued each sparkle onto the midnight garment of the heavens. Slowly, his eyes wandered towards the simple town below him. The lights in the windows cheerfully battled the darkenss surrounding them. He smiled again. Truly, the town was perfect.

    Vincent forced himself out of his reverie. He had been happy then, but the image before him reflected none of that. Instead, all of his pain was evident. The turmoil in his soul was clearly seen in the ominous swirling of the starry sky. Vincent painted faster and faster. Perhaps the despair would find relief once it was all on the canvas. When the time came, the painting would serve as a parting gift to his only comfort, Theo.
    As the final star was painted, Vincent dared to breathe. The time was coming, and he knew what he had to do. Theo would understand. Surely to die for love was a good way to exit this cruel world.

Piqued - Write on Wednesday

    The world was silent as Allison searched for it. A minute ago she had been stargazing in an open field, but now she was chasing it down. The thing, whatever it was, awoke a memory lost in the corner of mind. The scent had drifted by her on the midnight breeze and piqued her interest. It carried blurry images from her childhood. Goosebumps formed on her arms as the thought of what the memory would hold arose. What if she didn't want to remember? There must be a reason why she forgot in the first place. Her bare feet made no sound as Allison drew nearer to the object of her curiosity. It was there, she knew it. She felt it, moreover the perfume seemed to fill her completely.

The clock winked...Write on Wednesday

    Madison was tired of running. The city stretched before her endless and overcrowded. The rush of strange faces stifled her, but she couldn't take another step. Yet she knew she couldn't stop now. If she did she felt her soul would die, so she kept walking. Madison walked on and on without paying attention to her surroundings; her eyes refused to be blinded by the city lights. The pink flats she was wearing pinched her feet, but on she went until finally, she reached a wooded area.
    Pausing to breathe in the liberty she felt here, Madison closed her eyes and let herself go. Finally, here was a place where she could think. A place away from the constant buzz of the city life. Giant trees towered above her head putting the man-made skyscrapers she was accustomed to to shame. She wished she could stay here forever, and like an old friend doing her a favor, the clock winked.

Turmoil again! This prompt was a little harder to work with, so hopefully you all enjoy it and find it worth reading.

Sit under a tree and write - Write on Wednesday

    She stood with her back to the world, wanting to see only her special tree. One hand rested over the carved initials, perhaps because she didn't want to see them or maybe because she wanted to hold them and feel that yesterday wasn't just a dream. Another pair of initials was carved above the ones she was either protecting or blocking out. The letters in the second pair had worn out over the years and were barely visible. Strange that over time, the second pair, which had been carved in first had moved to second place in her heart. Since the death of her father many years ago she hadn't brought anyone to her special tree. At least not until she met him and was foolish enough to let him carve a place in her heart.

So, I'm not exactly happy that this exercise turned out as the aftermath of a love story, but it's what came to me. Hope you enjoy it and I appreciate your honest feedback.