What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Saturday, February 19, 2011

That useless thing - by Nuria Dominica

I have walked all my life.
Left places, homes and people behind. Running from my memories, running from my thoughts.
You been with me all the time.

You such an useless thing to me but I carried you around as if you could comfort me.
I do not know what to do with you even if I am aware of your beautiful sound.
My grandfather left you to me.
He could play you but I never knew. When he died grand-dad did not have nothing else than you.
I kept you with me all my life and you become my closest friend.
You heard me laugh, you heard cry. You sow me hill, happy and sad.
You know my moods and you know my thoughts.
I do not know what to do with you. Sometimes I just want to leave you behind, other times I want to brake you in thousand pieces but you still here on my hands.
I look at you and I see my self. My skin is getting old, my bones are tired and so are you.
You are not longer shine, your colour is fading just as my forehead is wrinkling.
Funny how live starts, runs and fades for everything even for a piece of wood like you.
Sometimes I wish to be you instead. No feelings, no emotions, no pains, just nothing.
Be there and looking at the word from a corner without been affected by the hardest things of life.
I feel sad looking at you. My memory arises, my nightmares comes back wild and strong.
My head spins fast while I see lights around me.
I feel lonely looking at you as I understand that I only have you and nothing else in my life full of agony and despair.
You are cold, so cold that my hand become cold too.
I hate you but I cannot stay without you.
You are my only salvation among this long and unemotional struggle that I keep following.
I cannot stop. You seem to look at me telling me to stop.
I stroke you and there you make that sound.
My body shivers, I feel suddenly different. I want to cry but I am scared.
Your sound if so peaceful, so pure.
And I keep stroke you and you keep take my emotions and rip them apart.
If only I could let the sound come smooth from you.
I feel pain sometimes and I feel miserable but you are here and you keep make that wonderful sound to me even if I do not know how to touch you. You are here in my hands and I cannot stop holding you as if you were a part of me that suffers and grows old with me. Together we are looking at this word. Together we are walking up all obstacles. Together we are living. You in my hands until we will consume completely all our skin.

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