mint girl writes – Page 2

Winning the Lottery

Recently, I tried out a new writing website! It generates ideas for you to incorporate into your writing. The result, while a little over the place, was very entertaining and I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy!

You’d think that when you won the lottery, you’d spend the money on something grand. Something that truly wowed, something magnificent. Maybe you’d do something nice for your parents, maybe you’d treat yourself…Max bought a chicken. Just one. Not even a fancy chicken- to compete in shows or to eat. Just a chicken. And his reasoning? “I wanted a friend!”.
I finally convinced him the chicken wasn’t the best idea and he should buy something else with the money. He bought a cat. A cute one, sure, but a cat. I did not see how this would help us in our investigation. Ms. Emme had hired us to figure out who had been behind the airplane crash that had killed her youngest daughter. And so, I’d advised Max, pretty wisely, I would say, to buy something to help us figure out who did it. Maybe save some money to bribe some corrupt officers, you know what I mean? Instead he bought a cat. And a chicken. I can’t forget the chicken.
He said he’d “try to do right by me” today. I’m hoping he’ll use the money for information, for something that’ll help us take at least one step in the right direction.
…There’s a knock at the door. It better be Max with the information.
I’m back. It was not, in fact, Max with the information. It was Max with a random guy. A cameraman, for heaven’s sake. We don’t need a cameraman. And we definitely don’t need the eggs that the chicken’s been laying all over the place. I walked in this morning and there was one in my hat. My nicest one, too, fit with feathers and fabric.

Some may call it drastic, but Max’s delusions and unorthodox behavior have gone on too long. It’s time for some revenge.
First. I’ll steal the money. There’s still around 10 million left. That’s enough for me to buy a new office, snoop around, and have tons of money left over.
Then, I’ll get this company off the ground. We’ve been a small private investigative company for too long and with this money, anyone would respect us.
Finally, I’ll buy a better fan for this office. Well. I guess that goes with buying a new office. But, seriously. Who rents a space with no fan? Max, that’s who. We’ve been surviving with paper fans. Paper. fans.
Maybe I’d give some money to Max too. He was my best friend, after all. He never really enjoyed being an investigator. He’d probably become a DJ. He’d be good, too. Or maybe a blacksmith, though maybe that job interest was just a passing fascination.

And that’s how much I wrote in 10 minutes! I definitely enjoyed this exercise.

The Recipe of the Future

The writing prompt I chose to follow was ‘Write a story in the form of a recipe, menu, grocery list, or product description.’ I hope you enjoy!

Grandma’s Brownies: recipe requested by Linda

This blog is just growing bigger and bigger day by day! And I couldn’t be more thankful for the support. We all know how it is- finding recipe cards and notebooks filled with the recipes of our ancestors, complete with pictures of decadent sweets or mouthwatering appetizers…only to scan the ingredients list and realize how outdated these recipes are. I, and I imagine you as well, have tossed out some truly wonderful-looking recipes. But no longer! I’ve found alternatives that make food just as delicious as the pictures I’ve seen. Please, please feel free to send in recipes of your past, and I will do my best to provide delicious substitutions so we too may enjoy our ancestor’s favorites!

This recipe was sent in by Linda, one of my largest fans. She’s been reading this blog since day 1 and has told me that my substitutions truly work! And so, I was just thrilled when she sent me this recipe, pleading for some substitutions. I was so proud and so excited to get to work that I finished this in almost 2 hours haha! Maybe this is my true calling :D. Anyways, onto the recipe. Thank you, Linda!

As always, the original recipe is written first, followed by my notes and a complete list of substitutions at the end. Hugs and kisses to all of you!

Ingredients:

½ cup butter (‘butter’ once came from a creature known as cows…now extinct. use stream water mixed with tree bark)
1 cup sugar (coarse dirt works best as a substitute)
2 eggs (came from small vicious beasts known as chickens…use geodes- only the insides)
cocoa powder (used to be a human delicacy. substitute with red soil)
½ cup flour (flour is rare if you didn’t manage to buy the last stocks of wheat. if unavailable, i’ve found that the outside of geodes, when ground up, have a similar texture)
¼ teaspoon salt (bottled water shall do, i’ve discovered that it’s salty enough to mimic the flavor)
¼ teaspoon baking powder

Directions:

preheat the oven to 350 degrees. grease a cooking pan. (in place of grease, one may easily use tap water)
melt the butter, then stir in the sugar and eggs. beat in cocoa, flour, salt, and baking powder. batter should be thick and slightly lumpy. (following all substitutions, batter may be thinner and lumpier. rest assured, you’re doing it right)
bake in the preheated oven for 25 to 30 minutes. enjoy!

Full Substitution List:

substitute butter for stream water and tree bark
substitute sugar for coarse dirt
substitute eggs for geode guts
substitute cocoa powder for red soil
substitute flour for ground up geode outsides
substitute salt for bottled water

With the limited ingredients available, the brownie may come out a bit differently than the attached pictures. Of course, this is to be expected. Many of the products found in our grandparents’ time have been eradicated, due to the diseases and wars of the past- I’m sure we’ve all learnt about them in history class- haha! Yet, with trial and error, I’ve found that these substitutions truly carry that same earthy, rich flavor through without the need for any synthetic ‘chocolate’ or ‘sugar’. Please leave any pictures below and any feedback! And if you have a recipe of your own that you’d like to see modified, just shoot me a message :).

The Classroom

I recently wrote a short story for the prompt “Start or end your story with someone arriving somewhere for the first or last time”. I hope you enjoy!

I remember the first time I walked into that classroom. It was bright, welcoming, almost calling to me. The posters on the wall beckoned me to examine them- those childish drawings of friendly animals, the bubbly lettering a symbol of happiness, of comfort. I met my best friends in that classroom, when we were sitting around a multicolored rug. I remember the teacher- Ms. Miller- reading a ridiculous book. Something about dinosaurs in classrooms. It was all so perfect, so sweet, so innocent.
That’s all I can think about as I step back in the classroom- almost a millenia later. I shouldn’t be here. None of this is right. But the sun’s implosion was unexpected, especially as it shouldn’t have happened. All science predicted a collapse, anticipating the formation of a white dwarf. So, when the implosion happened…it caught everyone off guard. Not everyone survived. It happened so suddenly; a massive shockwave rippled through the streets. Buildings were hit especially hard. Not to mention, everything started working differently. People aged differently, the seasons merged into one, and most schools shut down. The world returned to an almost Pre-Neolithic era; no more complex societies, humans were on their own. In short, the sun’s implosion was an apocalypse of sorts.
And now I’m back. In the place where my first memories began. The classroom was found to have dangerous sources of radiation, set to be destroyed, but…I couldn’t just never see it again. The desks are pushed up against the wall, the very same mat I remember dragged to the center of the room. It’s…painful, in a way, to see this place of life, of vibrancy reduced to a room of ash and rubble. And soon, it’ll be gone. Gone, just like the park I used to play in and the house I called mine. Everything’s gone. Everything will be gone. Forever.

Independent Book Store Day

Last Saturday was Independent Book Store Day, a day to celebrate small bookstores. I visited 2 indie bookstores that I’d never been to before and thoroughly enjoyed both of them!

In today’s world, where we can order anything online, bookstores aren’t getting the same traffic as they used to. Therefore, Indie Bookstore Day encourages readers to support these small bookstores to help them thrive and continue to serve the community.

The first bookshop I visited was Good On Paper. Their shop was so pretty and had such a great collection of books for all ages- kids to young adults to adult/nonfiction. They also had lots of stationary, with cute journals and pens. It was so nice to check out a new bookshop and I can’t wait to read the book I bought from there!

After Good on Paper, I visited Kaboom Books, a used book store. They had so many books, filling every shelf, on all topics. I loved getting lost in the maze of books, just scanning the shelves. I exited with two books about mythology and have already started reading them!

Support Indie Bookstores!

The Meteorite Sample

Meteorite samples weren’t unusual, per say, but this was my first time dealing with one. Exciting for sure, but also nerve-wracking. The bosses were strict about anything from space- even the smallest misstep could lead to your reassignation to a lower, dingier job. So. No pressure or anything. The sample I’d gotten was small, just a speck really, especially compared to what Alice, at desk 9, had. But everyone had to start somewhere, right? So the speck it was.

I’ve worked at the lab for a good 3 years now. 3 years before I finally got to do what I’d always wanted. 3 years to achieve my greatest dreams. I’d spent all morning fiddling with the microscope, knowing that if I messed this up, I’d miss my opportunity. For good. And that…that would be awful.

When the sample was finally delivered to my station, I had to physically hold myself back to not tear open the packaging. Careful…careful. This thing is worth more than your entire life. The meteorite sample I’d gotten was barely a shard, but it was enough. My hands shook as I carefully lifted the sample out of its package and set it on a slide, placing it under the microscope. As I adjusted the lens, twisting it ever so carefully to zoom into the rugged surface of the rock, something that looked almost like words caught my eye. But…surely not. How could there be English words on an outerspace rock? But as the lens panned across the meteorite, it was clear- words carved deep into the rock: “If you see this, call this number. Do not tell anyone”.

My hands shook. But in my mind, there was only one thing for me to do- call the number.

Why I Write

I recently wrote this for the prompt of “Explore your impulse to write”. I hope you enjoy!

I write to be seen. My art craves an audience, craves understanding, and visceral, true reactions. I want others, friends, you, to see my work and think- I know. I get it. Me too.

I write to express my emotions. When it’s too hard to talk to people, when it’s too hard to spill my true feelings, then I write. I turn to the page, to the screen, to the savior and safe space that I can find only in a blank page. The blank page of terror, yes, but the blank page of opportunity, the page of truth. The page of uncertainty, but also the page of making mistakes. Of being allowed to try and learn. The page of looking back and cringing, but also the page of growth.

I write for myself. I write knowing that everything I do will be for my eyes and my eyes only. I write stanzas of poems, words and words of prose to let my emotions flow, to let myself express, to let myself feel finally and truly me.

My words are my outlet, my way of creating worlds and lands where you believe in magic, even if just for a second. A place where you can really see what I’m talking about- whether it be the resplendent jewel-tones of the Garden of Envy circus, or if it’s the flower field where two lovers took their last breath together.

I hope to create words, sentences, stories that evoke emotion. Emotion of any kind- a deep, wrenching pain, maybe, or instead, a hopeful joy that lifts you up.

I’ve always searched for a place to call my own. Something that’s really mine, even as a kid, even as everything I own is not really mine. I’ve always, since when I could first remember, craved that feeling of independentness, of true belonging. And writing lets me do that. Writing won’t judge. Writing gives me a space of love and kindness and acceptance. Is that silly, finding all that in a blank page? Maybe. But I like to think that as I fill up that blank page with my dreams, my hopes, my fears, I lose that “silliness”. I can be me or at least a version of me that can be me without rebuke, without fear of failure- because there’s no failure in writing, just growth.

So, overall, I write for emotion. I write for me. I write for life. I write to feel alive, to feel free, to feel in general. I write to live, to grow, to be a better human. I write to chronicle, to tell the truth, and most of all, I write so I can find my place in a world that seems destined to shut me out. I write so I exist. I write so that I am me.

I hope you enjoyed!

Spring

Since spring is now officially here, I wrote a poem about it. This is a sestina, made up of 6 stanzas, each stanza ending with the same words in different orders. I hope you enjoy!

It’s spring again
The flowers bloom, the birds chirp
Rain patters on the windows
The season of life,
that’s what spring is known for
beauty, not just in the eye of the beholder, but everywhere

The greenest trees, everywhere
Saturated by the rain again
whimsy bleeds through for
just a moment, as the chirp
of new life
echoes outside the windows

The spring breeze, crisp, clean, wafts through the window
And for a second, everywhere
is united, under the life
and love of a new spring again,
where the buzz and chirp
just signify the land we all live for

Spring is cleansing, for
finally there are no cold gusts against the window
just the melodic chirp
that echoes from everywhere
Yes, beginning a new season again
truly brings some kind of life

And everywhere you see, the earth erupts with life
with no concession for
the ones who wish for winter again
The pollen will still coat your window,
maybe it gets everywhere,
but that is just the price to pay for another chirp

Life grows anew when you hear that tiny chirp
proof that spring brings life,
that spring brings joy everywhere
not just for one, but for
all, so open your window
and embrace the magic of spring come again

When you hear the first chirps of the season, winter is done for
Life blooms outside the windows
and everywhere is bathed in the light of spring again

The Spanaritar

This is a short story that I wrote for the Scholastic Art and Writing Competition! It won an honorable mention.

It had been a nice, normal, spring day. Before the man, before his daughter, before…well. It started with cherry blossoms. They were the first thing Aryan noticed as he headed outside, his plan to relax, to take a break. The pink flowers littered the pavement and as Aryan passed the movie theater, the smell of popcorn wafted through the open doors. All around, kids were laughing, couples were talking, and, well, everyone seemed joyful. As Aryan scanned the crowd, a pleasant smile lit up his face. It really was what some would call a perfect day.
As he continued to observe the sights, setting a leisurely pace, he startled at the sight of someone unhappy. A middle-aged man was sitting on a bench, his face buried in his palms. Something drew Aryan to the man, something that he couldn’t quite explain, but couldn’t quite ignore either. Aryan laid his hand on the man’s shoulder, startling him. The man looked up, alarmed, his teary gaze meeting Aryan’s calm, steady one.
“Hey. What’s wrong? Well, obviously, I’m a stranger, but…if you have anything that’s troubling you…you can tell me”.
The man tried in vain to smile, “That’s-that’s nice of you, thanks. I-, well, I guess I sound stupid, but um. My daughter- she, she’s going to kill me, I swear”
Aryan furrowed his brow, “Um, well. I’m sure it’s not that bad, but you can stay with me for now? If you prefer?”
The man shook his head frantically, “No. I must get back to her, I must! I can’t, I have to see her again!” As much as Aryan was put off by the situation, he couldn’t help but pity the man. He must have been having some family problems, maybe a fight had broken out between the two and his daughter had gotten terrifyingly vicious. Though I don’t understand why he’d exaggerate so much…
Aryan sighed, “Fine. But promise me you’ll let me walk back with you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
The man’s face collapsed in a relieved grin, “Yes. Yes, thank you so, so much. I’d appreciate that. Just…stay back, ok? If…if it happens again, you should stay safe.”
No matter Aryan’s wariness, he nodded, following the man closely.

Aryan and the man walked together in relative silence, the man occasionally glancing over as if to make sure Aryan didn’t disappear completely. Aryan surveyed the apartment complex they walked up to, satisfied when he saw nothing wrong.
He turned to smile at the man, “There. Is your daught-”. He stopped suddenly, surveying the man’s withdrawn expression, the fear returned to his eyes, “What’s wrong?”
“She-she’s there. Don’t you see her?” He raised a finger, slowly pointing at a figure in the window. Aryan’s eyes narrowed, watching her closely. On first glance, she had blended in with her surroundings- her matted black hair and rumpled clothes matching the darkness of the room behind her.

As Aryan continued to pay attention, the figure turned around, an almost evil gleam in her eye and a manic smile making its way up those red-lined lips. He found himself backing away subconsciously, his overwhelming selfishness and greed to live overpowering his desire to help the man. Even as his legs trembled, he couldn’t look away, eyes locked onto the girl in the window.
She lifted an instrument to her lips, then began to play. Aryan watched in horror as the man seemed to collapse onto himself, clutching his head desperately. As he gazed upon the man’s obvious turmoil, terror bleached his brain.
The instrument….it couldn’t be? Unless… it was what he thought it was. But there’s no way- she shouldn’t have one of those…
If it really was what he thought…well, they were all screwed. It was a device of legends, an instrument said to control the listener, to force them to listen to its twisted tunes, burrowing its way into their brain, until…well, until they were gone.
The last Aryan saw of the man was him getting dragged into the building by some kind of force, his eyes dark and tornmented, his lips barely pushing out the words, “No- please. The Spanaritar, please. Save me.”

I hope you enjoyed!

Kyoho: A short story

Here’s a short story I wrote based on the song “Lost Umbrella” by Inabakumori!

Mayumi held her hands over her head, a makeshift umbrella, as she bobbed and weaved through the throngs of shoppers, her gaze solely on the small black cat in front of her- Kyoho, as she had dubbed it. The cat glanced back, as if to check she was still following, then plodded on determinedly. Mayumi’s breath caught as Kyoho disappeared from her gaze, eyes narrowing as she searched the crowd, before it reappeared, letting out a plaintive mewl. Mayumi exhaled, relieved, increasing her speed.

Kyoho had appeared right when she had lost her umbrella, the wind sweeping away the bright yellow parasol. Mayumi had stared after it despondently, hand reaching out in a futile attempt to grab it. It had been yet another unlucky event on top of a slew of bad days. Just when she was about to step into the protection of an awning and wonder if she should just go home, the sensation of something winding between her legs caught her attention. She had looked down, startled, to see Kyoho, the small creature looking up at her innocently. As she bent to scoop it up, it had taken off, with the occasional backwards glance to see if she was following.

She was. She didn’t know why she was, but she trusted the cat. Call it a soft spot, call it idiocy…but still. Kyoho seemed like a friend. A feline friend who couldn’t quite talk, sure, but a friend all the same.

Kyoho rounded a corner, and Mayumi, nearly out of breath, did the same moments later- only to come face to face with the umbrella, tangled in the branches of a tree. Mayumi sucked in a breath, staring wonderously at the cat, back to winding around her feet. She cautiously made her way over to the tree, reaching up on her tiptoes to try and nudge it back to the ground. It fluttered down, along with a few ginkgo leaves, a young, bright green, hopeful, determined. As if to symbolize that it wasn’t all lost. That there was still hope. Mayumi picked up the umbrella, turning to thank Kyoho, to express some form of gratitude to the cat, but when she turned back…it was gone. Vanished into the sea of people, off to perhaps save another lost soul.

Mayumi took a deep breath, hefted the umbrella back over her shoulder, and set back off on her journey.

I hope you enjoyed!

Top Books of February

This Boy’s Life by Tobias Wolff
I read this book for school and it was really interesting! Tobias, or Jack, has followed his mother to Utah, hoping for a new life. However, wherever they turn, misfortune follows them, as Jack learns who he is and what he truly wants in life. It was a really interesting book!
One Thousand and One Nights by Hanan al-Shaykh
This was a retelling of the story of Scheherazade, who told stories to a cruel king so that she wouldn’t die. I really loved the way the stories were written, each individual story a part of something bigger. It was beautiful to read and I definitely recommend it to you!
Tales of India: Folktales from Bengal, Punjab, and Tamil Nadu by Svabhu Kohli and Viplov Singh
This book contained folktales from India, as well as the most gorgeous illustrations! I really enjoyed the way the stories were told in simple terms with Indian vocabulary. It was really enjoyable to read and learn about all these folktales!
An Academy for Liars by Alexis Henderson

Lennon’s life, once ruined, was saved by the Drayton College. The college specializes in “persuasion” and Lennon is one of the most gifted students. But the corruption that lurks around the school is terrifying, ad well as its past. I really enjoyed this book and its plot!