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Just a little piece I thought would be fun to post. It’s an exercise writing a short story all in questions, assuming that there is someone answering them. How would you guys answer these questions?

What is life? Do you think we come from darkness and end in darkness and the life we lead in between is the only light? Don’t you think that beyond this illusion we call reality there is a place that we go back to and call home? What is home? Is it a place or a feeling? Does it depend on the time spent there or the people who wait for you by the window? Does it carry memories from your childhood, or simply hold the things you once loved? Do you think you can recreate your life in a new place? Why not?

Are you afraid of change? Don’t you think that change is what moves us forward? Isn’t it a natural part of this earthly experience? We age every day, don’t we? Is there really such a difference between drastic change and one that is so subtle you don’t notice until years later? You would rather not notice? But isn’t it the point of life to notice the things around you? To enjoy and cherish them? To evolve your perspective and your understanding of the universe around you? We both know that perspective comes from experience right? So are your experiences static? Do you believe that no matter what you do, your life will continue on a straight trajectory? Do you think the years you have in this life are your only ones?

Is there a true end? Or is this just one of the many lives you will have? Will you not find peace and content throughout this journey? What will make you happy? Is it the things you buy? Or the things you give? Or the things you know? Does your knowledge come from abstract ideas or the details in your life? How can you truly ever know if this is all there is? Doesn’t logic deem that life is not the only light, but there is a beyond? Do you wonder? Do you ask the universe? What if she answers?


I’m 4. The 3 of us are sitting on the floor watching The Lion King. I’m wrapped in my sister’s arms on the gray carpet while our older brother is sprawled on the worn leather couch.

“This is boring. Why do I have to sit here and watch this? Do you guys think I didn’t see it a thousand times when I was little?” my brother asks. He’s 15.

“Just watch it with us. It’s family time. Don’t you want to spend some time with your baby brother and me?” Meg chides.

“Lion King!” I say and smile up at him.

I’m 5. My sister catches me as I run into her arms and spins me around. I can hear the wind rushing through my ears and her ringing laugh. It sounds like chimes and bells and happiness. She’s laughing so hard she can barely hold on to me. Slowing down, she mock-falls on the floor taking her with me. We lie there laughing together.

“I love you so much sweetie.” She says.

“Love you too Meg.” I say back.


I’m 6. Meg is 15. We go for a walk in the woods. The sun’s rays are shining through the forest ceiling. It’s the middle of summer, but the full green leaves make it chilly in the shade. She’s pointing to the trees, explaining to me how they grow from tiny little seeds and rise up to the sky.

“They’re trying to get closer to God.” she says. “Like all of us. When they die, when they’re cut down, you can see how long they’ve been trying by the number of rings.” I’m holding on to her index finger with my small hand. It’s peaceful in the woods, but I have the urge to break that peace. I let go of her and run forward.

“Where are you running off to?” she laughs and runs after me. I run faster and look back to see if she’s behind me. I don’t see the root in front of me and trip over it, falling on my knees and hands. It stings so much that I start crying.

“Oh, baby, are you ok?” Meg is by my side, picking me up and sitting me down in her lap. “Let me see that.” She looks at my knees, then at my palms.  I’m still crying. It hurts so much, I try to tell her, but all that comes out is sobbing mumbles.

“Shhh. It’s ok. I’ll carry you home and we can get that cleaned up ok?” she smiles at me. I fall asleep in her arms on the way home.


I’m 7. I’m dressed in a suit. It’s uncomfortable and my dad tells me I have to keep my shoes clean. I look for Meg. I can’t find her anywhere. She hasn’t been home for days.

“Where is Meg?” I keep asking. My Mom’s eyes are tear-stained. Meg should be here to make Mom feel better. I never see Mom cry and Meg would know what to do. She always makes me smile. She can make Mom smile too. My brother is leaning on a tree, away from all the people so I go over to him.

“Where is Meg?” I ask. He seems angry. I pull on the corner of his suite jacket. “Where is Meg?” I ask again.

“She’s not fucking here!” He yells at me. “She’s gone. She’s not coming back! She’s dead.” He scares me and I run to my Dad crying. He picks me up and hands me over to Mom. I see him walk over to my brother and start yelling at him. Dead? What is dead? Where is Meg?

Dead means never coming back. Mom and Dad are sitting in front of me in the living room. It’s dark out now.  Mom is trying to tell me something. Something about Meg. She was somewhere, with friends. There was a car. It was night time, just like now. I don’t understand.

“God takes the best.” Dad says. “You will see Meg again. She’s with him, up there in the sky: in Heaven.”

“She’s coming back?” I ask. I know what hope is, I’m 7. I can feel it. He said I’ll see her again.

“No, darling, no.” Mom tries. “She’s…” she starts crying again. She touches my Dad on the arm, stands up and walks out of the room. She hasn’t stopped crying for forever.

“Son,” Dad sighs. “Meg… she’s not coming back. She’s watching you from above. That’s what death is. You go back to God and you leave your family behind and you wait for them.”

“Why would she leave?” I ask. Now I feel panic. Meg would never leave me. She says she loves me.

“Honey, I don’t know how to explain this to you…” He seems to be giving up. I can feel it. I need to understand. Why would she leave?

“She didn’t want to leave us.” He tries again.  “She didn’t want to leave you. She loves you and always will…. God called her back to him. It will eventually happen to all of us. Mom and I will go back. So will your brother, and you will too, when you’re very old. Like grandpa’s age. You have a whole life to live before that. Ok?”

I sit there for a couple of minutes.

Meg is gone. I can’t see her until I’m like grandpa. That’s forever!  She’s not coming back, Dad says. She’s dead. Dead means gone. Gone?

I miss her.

“I miss Meg.” I tell Dad. I start crying.

“I know son. So do I. So does Mom and your brother. We all miss her so much.” He takes me into his arms and I cry there until I can’t cry anymore.


This is a story I’ve been working on for a while. Hope you enjoyed! Any feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

The first time I heard “Silence” remixed by Mt. Eden, I was surrounded by thousands of people, but the world I was slowly slipping into only held the dazzling inspirations of color. They danced around me, making me sway in a game of follow the leader. As I raised my arms in the air, the colors touched my fingertips, and my soul lifted up with the forceful beat of bass, like the rhythmic march of an army. The energy weaved itself through my essence and the darkness was held at bay by the melodic voice of an Angel.

Peace never made more sense.

I was no longer aware of my physical counterpart, but only the voice that was guiding me through the myriad of stars in the night sky. The soft grass beneath my feet was my last connection to Earth, the persistent beat from the stage amp moving me in fluid motions across the dark green field. I was sinking into the abyss of untamed emotions. Wave after wave of sound filled me, whirling me deep into the mystic world of my creation. The music began to gently fade, and with it the magic of the moment. My dance was ending and the people around me started coming back into focus. The lasers changed their direction as I began to hear the loud screams and whistles of the festival crowd. I felt the drops of water from the plastic bottle that flew past my head.

Someone lit a cigarette.

So this term I am taking a class called Writing Fiction. It’s basically a creative writing class and our professor has made us get books that have writing exercises in them. We’ve already done an exercise on writing 10 ‘1st’ sentences, a flash fiction inspired by an Edward Hopper painting, and this week we’re writing a piece about a game (twister, soccer, whatever). These have already opened up my writing style so much that I wanted to share these improvements with you guys.

In general, I’d like to expand my blog, not just to represent the philosophical aspect of myself, but all the other aspects – me as a writer, me as a dreamer, me as I AM.

So this was my first piece, and I hope that some of you take on this prompt and maybe post a short story on your blog. Let me know if you do!!!! Leave me a link or something.

Begin a story by: “The first time I (or NAME) heard (NAME OF SONG by SPECIFIC ARTIST or GROUP), I (or NAME) was down/up/over/at PLACE and we were doing ACTION.”

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Hi, I’m Anastasiya


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In Love and Light

July 2018
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