A Universe Trapped in a Labyrinth

This is my boring and interesting and teenager life spanning from age 15 to 18 (May 2015-August 2018)
Within you'll find many re-inventions of myself, boy trouble, school trouble and life trouble. (Plus interesting bits I thought I would include as well).
Do you dare to enter the maze?


5. Stories of pictures and words

Date: Friday 15th May 2015 16:57

Entry: 5/?

Subject: Stories of pictures and words.

Tip/advice: #5 Anything can inspire you; anything.


Lately my life has been like a fairy tale. Fairy tales have morphed into my life so much that I can’t wait to start writing and drawing fairy tales; my final project for art. I have also set myself a goal to finally do Nanowrimo this year and despite my valiant efforts so many ideas come forth so early (really early)  in the writing process for November.

The following story is just one of my ideas based on a fairy tale.


There is a girl, drowning.

In her last moments it is not the water nor the cold that finally sealed the deal; it is the gnarled, black hand. The hand dragged her further, stealing her will, her innocence and her life. The girl herself is strong, a fighter, nearly seventeen years of age and yet the crashing waves keep for ever coming. They toss her around, upside down and this way and that. She is grateful for the help for freedom but the hand stays firm.

There are moments of hope however. Scant moments of life as the hand lets go and she takes deep sucking oxygen into her lungs and there are shots of happiness in her chest. But then nails dig into her skin. Another hand grips her. Takes her hostage under the waves. There is no air in her lungs, no hope for a saviour to rescue her (she had taken a liberty to come at night; alone and stupid after all).

She will die.

And she will die alone.

It is that fearful thought that makes her panic. She forces her legs to move, to kick, to flail. She forces herself to fight; to win against the game the waves and the hand is playing with her. She fails. There are more hands, they grip and tear at her skin. The water is suddenly stained red and she panics once more. The hands take her and slams her against rocks disguised as knives. The pain in her back is so mindlessly intense that she becomes paralysed, unable to move, breathless, helpless and she calls out. The call is such a mistake, water floods her mouth, her nostrils. She chokes and coughs and swallows more. Darkness creeps in.

Please she screams in her head, her mind swimming in churning waters of fear and desperation. Please she begs. No body hears her.

The hands let go. They let her go in peace and in misery. The hands have a body, scaly and morphed in blurry vision. The hands have faces, cruel and twisted and non-existent in darkening sight. They watch her let go of herself.

She feels it before it comes. She feels Death as he sinks down in the water, his dark cloak wings behind him. He takes her and the pain is gone.

She dies then and there.

But that is where the story of Ariel begins; not where it ends.


Like I said fairy tales have taken over my life. I can’t wait to finish my Disguise project in art (which is an analysis of the mind which disguises the nightmares of life) so that I start illustrating. By illustrating I mean illustrating characters of fairy tales and creating my own, I was thinking of twisting the tale of Rumpelstiltskin so that the project will be different to the usual creation.

Speaking about art did you know how hard it is to colour in something with a fine liner pen? I mean, yes the final result is fabulous but I’ve spent 3 hours just colouring in a flower and a tree branch. Ah, it’ll will take forever for me to finish it all but it will be worth it. I guess Rome wasn’t built in a day.


The moral of this entry?  

Inspiration can hit at any and I mean any time. But inspiration also takes time. The end result however will be worth the wait. 

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