manypersons-writes

[manypersons-writes]

this one got selected!

Circle Tunes

Endless expanse,

stunning blue.

I am nothing,

next to you.

Frameless,

blameless.

Callously true,

asking brashly,

for what is due.

Receding, reclaiming,

recede and reclaim.

Your cyclical melody,

my personal tune.

If there was a way,

I could sing back to you.

In a language that we

both could use.

Then every day,

I’d sit.

Before an audience of dune,

to be your own special choir,

and sing our circle tunes.

[manypersons-writes]

The Girl and the Rat

There was a rat dying

On the walk of cement.

A small brown rat,

Wild by my judgement,

breathing its last few breaths.

Unmoving,

Besides these rapid intakes.

There was a girl watching.

Crouched on the ground.

Face close.

Worried, anxious.

Was she comforting this creature,

In the last moments of its life?

Or did she bring it more fear?

She was on the phone,

Talking quickly to someone.

Looking around,

Eyes wide and scared.

Describing their location,

To those on the other end.

I like to think,

That she was calling for help,

For someone to come,

And ease the tiny thing’s pain.

But I will never know for sure.

For I did not stop,

To know the truth.

And this all transpired,

With just a glance.

I did not stop,

To help the girl helping the rat.

But this moment in time,

Is framed within my eyes.

Would I have paused my step,

Were there no girl at all?

Would I have taken that moment,

To value another thing’s life?

Something small,

fleeting,

But surely worth something.

Would I have panicked,

Along side this wretched beast?

Would I have mourned,

A stranger’s passing?

And if there was no one at all?

No girl to aid,

Nor I to observe.

That life to be nothing,

No memory thereof.

A whisper extinguished.

An invisible soul.

A barren corpse,

To be swept away later,

And rot away alone,

Never at all known.

But this was not the case,

For this rodent.

There was a girl,

And I was there too.

Bonded in this moment.

For a beat,

It became something,

Noticed and cared about

And for an eternity,

They’re now enshrined,

That girl and the rat.

[manypersons-writes]

also submitted my poetry to a few art magazines!

I just recently submitted Aware to receive a fellowship at my university so fingers crossed big things are coming for my little world

[manypersons-writes]

I just recently submitted Aware to receive a fellowship at my university so fingers crossed big things are coming for my little world

[manypersons-writes]

Captain Riot

This is the backstory for my character in an upcoming campaign, but it takes the form of a short narrative because I did not know what I was doing

She watched her parents’ death.

This wasn’t too long ago.

She watched them be shot, killed, and left to bleed all because they wouldn’t give those river thieves the key to their safe. It was a silly thing to give your life over, she would later think, looking back. She could now only theorize, but to them that was everything and without it, they would die either way.

Even in the beginning stages of her adolescence, she’d never known anything beyond the quiet life they led, her and her parents, traveling town to town along the river collecting, fishing, selling, trading. They knew there was risk in this trade, but it felt so far away to her when things had always seemed to go so well.

It was their third day being ported in some inconsequential town they were only supposed to spend a week in when a boat rammed into their own out of which they sold their wares with such force, it sent a crate of fruit they’d picked up in the previous city tumbling into the water.

Her mother, the more outspoken of her parents, shouted in indignation, “What is the meaning of this!”

A man stood at the bow of the offending vessel, fist thrust into the air, a taunting smiled on his face. “We’re taking this ship. If you value your life, you’ll drop everything and leave posthaste!”

Behind him, the crowd of river thieves surged and began to climb onto the trading ship.

The two customers she’d been servicing scrambled away into the screaming crowd stampeding out of the port. She clenched the wooden railing, paralyzed into position.

“Come on,” her father hissed clasping her arm, “we must go. Now.”

She let him lead her down the gangplanks, her mother following close behind. She glanced back, for a moment, the sight of her life being plumaged through shaking her to her core.

“Wait!” the man’s voice rang out again. He leapt over the rail. “Riot is it?”

He waved the ship’s log, grinning menacingly and strolling to where they’d frozen in their escape.

Her father stiffened and turned slowly.

“There’s a safe in your cabin. Give me the key to it.”

Her mother locked eyes with her before shooting in, her voice surprisingly even. “We don’t have it,” she said. “It fell overboard our last trip. We’ve been searching for a refutable locksmith to open it.”

“I wasn’t asking,” he said, cocking his crossbow. With one decisive move, he released a bolt squarely into her mother’s chest, who crumpled to the floor, a lifeless sack. “Now tell me where the key is.”

Her father fell to the floor, gripping his wife’s collar, eyes glassy.

She was unable to let out a sound. All she could do was stare onto the scene, stepping back in disbelief.

The man methodically reloading his bow, smile unwavering. Her father glared back defiantly.

“Come on now. It’s not that difficult a choice to make. We’re taking that safe with or without the key. Just help us out a bit.”

Her father took a deep breath. Was he considering? Or did he just have to prepare for what came next? She didn’t know. She’d never know. All she knew was that her father’s face was utterly unreadable, in an expression the like of which she’d never seen from the docile man.

“Captain!” he shouted, “Run!”

She squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly pushed into action, and she found it in herself to make a break for it. The sound of the crossbow’s release caused her to wince, but she didn’t look back.

It took her several days of battling with her feelings, her fury eventually winning over the pain of her loss. She concluded that she could not carry on until she found the leader of that band of river thieves and kill him.

She had very little to her name. Just the clothes on her back, the income brought in from sales that fateful day, the dagger she kept on hand for unruly customers. But it would have to do. After she took down her target, she would have to start over off her own means.

She watched the thieves’ ship from a distance for a while. They’d latched her family’s boat to the back of their own and would likely tow it to the next town to sell where people hadn’t witnessed their crimes. She noted carefully as they began to organize everything on their deck and lug her family’s safe onto their ship. It was likely their last day here.

Thinking she’d missed her window, she went for dinner in town, resolving to search for work in the morning. As she ate, she heard a disturbance across the tavern. She shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was to see the rowdy bunch of river thieves, with their leader at the center, his feet propped up onto another chair and his crossbow laid out across the table carelessly.

She didn’t hesitate. Beyond fear, she stood and shouted. “Hey!”

The tavern went quiet. All eyes were on her briefly, but that didn’t sway her determination.

The man offered her little more than a look. Either he didn’t recognize her, or he didn’t care. The noise in the room picked up once again.

She continued her march forward, pushing her way past several drunken thieves until she stood across from their lounging leader. She ripped the chain from around her neck and throwing it down at the table, silver key clattering next to the bow.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?”

His face remained a carefully composed indifference and the leader of thieves regarded her. “You’re that Riot brat from the other day, aren’t you?”

He stood, towering over her, and stretched, taking his time. “We don’t need that thing anymore. I’ve got a skilled locksmith on my crew. Took him about an hour to crack that old safe of yours. I guess I was just hungry that day.”

His men roared with laughter.

“It was hardly worth it anyways. Just a bunch of paperwork we had to throw out.”

Every word was a punch to her gut. Her parents had really been killed for no good reason. Something stirred in her mind in that moment. This man didn’t deserve death. There ought to be something much worse she could do to him.

“Let me join you!” she cut through the laughter.

He appraised her. “And why would I want to do that?”

“I’m strong,” she insisted. “And sneaky. I’ve had to be, spending my entire life on the water. That’s what you want in a good thief isn’t it? I’d be a hard worker.”

He thought for a moment, considering. “And why would you want to do that?”

For no offer in this world comes with no strings attached.

She clenched her jaw. “My parents did not care for me. I was little more that a slave to them. You freed me.”

“Fine,” he huffed, covering his self-satisfaction with feigned irritation. “What’s your name kid?”

The term kid was a little off putting as she was certain that they were about the same age, but she didn’t care to correct him. It didn’t matter either way.

“Riot, sir.”

“Riot? Your family name? What happened to Captain?” he said with a smirk.

“Just a cruel nickname. My parents didn’t bother to give me a name of my own.”

A man with such an ego certainly would not take to calling their subordinate Captain.

“You sure are funny!” he chuckled. “I’m Hobie Locke. Don’t be a burden.”

And that was how the beginning stage of Captain Riot’s plan to avenge her parent’s commenced. She spent the next two years aboard the river thieves’ vessel, bending to Locke’s every whim. Where she expected herself to struggle and hate the work, she found herself excelling and even enjoying it now and again. She proved herself to the leader of thieves time and time over and proved herself to be a reliable member of the crew, all the while gaining the trust of Locke. This proximity allowed her to gain valuable information about him, the likes of which he would never otherwise share with the average member of the crew. She stayed until one night, when she received that final piece of information that completed the puzzle.

It was over drinks in his quarters that she noticed something was off in Locke’s regular demeanor.

“Something’s bothering you,” she remarked, thrumming her fingers on her thigh below the table. Over the years, she’d become a master at precepting such shifts in him and at drawing information from him. Such men liked to hear their own voice so much that the less you say, the more they’ll share.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbled, slumping down into his chair.

She said nothing, just continued sipping as she waited for him to spill.

One, two, three, four.

“It’s just…”

“Mhm?” she urged.

“Nobody here know it, but he thing is…after the ship’s repairs are done here, the next town we’re stopping at, [ ], is my home town.”

She raised a brow. “That doesn’t sound like something you’d have to keep a secret.”

His tone was hushed, almost worried. “I don’t exactly, well, trust all my men. You have to be careful with who you tell things to around here.”

“Certainly,” she said, forcing herself not to grin.

“My parents live there,” he finally said. His expression suddenly switched to embarrassment, remembering the conditions under which they’d met. “Dammit, I didn’t mean—anyways, I’m going to see them for the first time in a few years when we go.”

She let out a dry smile. This remark stung more than she let on, but she was more focused on the invaluable information he’d just shared.

“That must be nice,” she said before excusing herself for the night. “I really should be catching some shut eye.”

“Wait,” Locke cried as she slipped out of the room, “you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Her fingers dug into the wooden doorframe. “Of course not.”

That was her last night on the river thieves’ ship. She’d immediately gathered her sparse belongings and snuck off into the night, following the river from the coverage of the forest. The moon that night was bright. By morning, even if they noticed she was gone, they would simply assume she’d headed into town early. It wouldn’t be for a few days that they’d suspect her leaving and even if they wanted to pursue her, it would have to be by land—the ship’s maintenance was estimated to last a few more months more.

The next morning, she caught a ride with a traveling tradesman, offering some gold in exchange for passage. In just a few days’ time, she arrived in [ ], where her revenge would be enacted. She now only needed to hunt down Locke’s parents, but not to kill them. No, innocent people didn’t deserve to die for the sins of their son. Furthermore, her grief to be released with such a minor act. Locke deserved so much worse and what else was worse than loss to death than loss to life?

She would find them, grow close to them, and turn them against Hobbie Locke all before he arrived here. The truth about him would likely be enough to do it. He deserved nothing less than their rejection.

[manypersons-writes]

Chapter four is up after a long time spend playing with plot and outlining ideas

[manypersons-writes]

fineliner swatch poem

[manypersons-writes]

Circle Tunes

Endless expanse,

stunning blue.

I am nothing,

next to you.

Frameless,

blameless.

Callously true,

asking brashly,

for what is due.

Receding, reclaiming,

recede and reclaim.

Your cyclical melody,

my personal tune.

If there was a way,

I could sing back to you.

In a language that we

both could use.

Then every day,

I’d sit.

Before an audience of dune,

to be your own special choir,

and sing our circle tunes.

[manypersons-writes]

To be known

To exist,

Is to be thought of,

but not in the terms

of your own.

To exist,

Is to be shaped,

and molded,

and thrown.

To exist,

Is to be reimagined,

everytime

a new friendship

is grown.

To exist,

Is to have,

from every person,

a clone.

To exist,

Is to be,

misunderstood,

as you are prone.

To exist,

Is never

to be

known.

[manypersons-writes]

On the Climate Crisis

In 2023, it feels like we're here, standing on the edge of a cliff, and that all it will take is one strong gust of air to push us over the air. Humanity has had it's chance. Time and time again and we've failed to take it. It feels hopeless, I know, but part of the reason it does is because the good news regarding climate never quite makes it to the publics ears. One of these such things was the hole in the ozone layer. This hole, which was an enormous cause for cause for concern less than a decade ago has all but faded from the media, but that's actually because there's good news regarding it. According to a 2022 report by the UN, the hole in the ozone layer is healing. Slowly, but surely.

This is just the start of it. I know you're reading this, thirty, maybe forty years out, and maybe things still feel hopeless, but there has to be a certain level of comfort knowing that humanity is able to change. On the other hand, maybe things don't feel quite so hopeless. Maybe the climate crisis is a thing of the past. Maybe you haven't heard a word of it in decades, because, slowly but surely, humanity is making it better. But then again, who knows.

It is 2023 and we as a species are standing at the edge of a cliff. Maybe one strong gust of wind will push us over the edge. But what if--what if--we all collectively decide to stop fighting against the wind?

What if we all collectively decided to jump?

What then?

[manypersons-writes]

wrote a bit tonight, it's just the background to an idea I've been playing with

[manypersons-writes]

huh

[manypersons-writes]

we writing

[manypersons-writes]

I am A Fly and So are You

This is the graduation speech never given. For context I graduated this year, in 2022.

Good evening all and, wow, I would just like to say that this is most definitely the largest event I’ve been to in…a while. My name is _______ and I know that most of you don’t know me. That’s why I’d like to open up with a bit of an icebreaker as a way to truly introduce myself, for me to bear my heart on my sleeve, and to get down to the basis of what it that I’d like to discuss tonight.

So, freshman year we went through the poetry unit. We had to write three poems, but the one I was hung up on was the comparison poem, in which we took something and compared ourselves to it. Now, at the bright young age of fourteen, I was confident in my writing and when your confident at doing something, proficiency isn’t an option. No no no…you have to leave an impact and that’s just what I strove to do with my comparison poem.

I brought the original copy of it with me tonight. I know you can’t see it, but it’s all hand written and there’s this drawing on me…riding a fly. Yes, this is I Am a Fly, by me.

To the fly struggling across my hand, I spoke these words:

“You know, you and I,

We aren’t so different.”

In response, the fly blinked its may eyes.

“Hey! Don’t deny it, you know its true!”

And it was true,

For I would never lie to a fly.

From my head to my toes,

I most definitely am a fly.

Flies are insignificant and tiny,

They are irritating and noisy,

And difficult to rid oneself of.

Among their habits,

Is shoveling through garbage,

And picking up after others.

Going about their time,

Tending to their own matter.

The life of a fly,

Is a constant struggle,

Being beaten down,

At every turn and corner.

Nobody wants you,

Nobody invites you.

The fly on my hand took wing and took flights,

Intricate body off in the night.

Because despite the struggling,

The hardship, the loss,

The fly, hence the name, has wings of its own.

I am a fly from my head to my toes.

I do admit, when I originally chose the topic of I Am a Fly, it was entirely a joke, but I feel like I was at a time in my life when really did feel like a fly. When I felt…small.

Not that you can tell, I was shy when I entered high school and that’s putting it lightly. Sure I would be able to give the occasional class presentation, but speaking up in a group of people? Forget it. I did find my voice though. My confidence. Thanks a great deal to speech and debate.

You want to hear a crazy fun fact? The class of 2022 is and will always be the only graduating class to have had an entire year of high school before quarantine and an entire year of high school after quarantine. And I know that there has been times, no matter how fleeting, throughout this wildly tumultuous journey where you have felt small. Where you’ve felt insignificant when it come to the great scheme of things. Where things have been so utterly insane that you’ve felt like you have lost your grasp on things and are falling. Where you felt that any ounce of control you ever had over the course of your life has been ripped from you. Times where it felt like the universe took a big, old flyswatter and slapped you across the face. Times…where you felt like a fly.

And no, this isn’t addressed solely to my fellow classmates, nor to all those parents, teachers, and relatives in the audience, but to everyone. I know that you have endured the helpless feeling of being a fly, because, well, that was me.

I would just like to pose a question: How is it, that we’ve gone through an enormously life-changing event and are expected to simply continue on as though nothing happened? How are we supposed to pick up where we left off when we’re all entirely different people and when we have no idea where we left off?

No answer?

Well no matter despite the daunting impossibility of that task, we’ve done it. Class of 2022, we made it. We are here. We have overcome those fly moments.

And while this is sure not the last time our inner flies will shine through, I can guarantee that we’ve all better equipped ourselves to soar even when it feels like we are falling too fast to catch ourselves. Sure, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but that doesn’t mean it sucks to grow through.

And to the parents and relatives who think I’m being dramatic when I’m addressing the difficulty of this task, I want to ask, how would you know? Remind me again what the cost of college was when you graduated. What was the average acceptance rate for prestigious schools? How much was housing prices? Yeah that’s what I thought.

We have grown up in a rapidly shifting world. In a time where human fate is more closely tied to worldly events than ever before. Our ancestors never could have predicted the absolute weight that each and every one of us must carry these days. Our one personal burden. A global consciousness. Not even our own parents foresaw the interconnectedness that the world would experience these days. And in the future this burden will continue to grow.

Now I describe it as a burden, but an increasing awareness of the world around us is the only way we can ever conceivably address societal and environmental issues as one united front. In the past, there was a heavy “it’s not my problem” mindset and because of that it has become our problem.

Frankly, I see incredible things in the future for, well, all of us, though that’s not to say only good things are to come. There will hardships. There will be misfortune. There will be obstacles so great they feel impossible to overcome. When you feel small, it is very easy to forget that you have your own secret arsenal of powers. When you feel insignificant, the gift of flight is very easily forgotten, but going forward, it is prudent that you remember that the ability to adapt and to overcome is within all of us, but there is no shame in asking for help.

Class of 2022, I see you. I feel you. Your struggle is not forgotten, but to the future we must look. A future so filled with new, that the familiar is almost overwhelmed. Yet it will stay with us forever, this oneness with flies. It sounds ridiculous but it’s true.

For I am a fly from my head to my toes. And so are you. And that’s not a bad thing.

[manypersons-writes]

I thought about it, and neither Niklas of Caiden had any reason to have driven before. I had to tie it in

[manypersons-writes]

I love how you can tell exactly who is talking by what they call Viviana

I’m a big fan of Caiden and Niklas working together