The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 6

Day 6: Think of your favourite food. Try to make it sound as disgusting as possible.

I really love food so this hurt my soul to write. And it made me a little hungry.

A combination of nauseating ingredients. They are stacked layers on top of each other, as if already overcompensating for the unpalatable taste.

It Is housed between two dry buns, having absolutely no flavour. Simply just drying out your mouth. The lack of taste can only be achieved with a mixture of chemicals. A food that should be pure but instead is injected with a number of falsities.

On top of this a carcass of a once living animal is slabbed in. On this living thing resides thousands of other living things, this makes it prone to disease and other organisms harvesting on the surface. Bacteria all around it. Blood could still be running through the corpse.

Another piece which is coated in bacteria and grown from the soil. Insects rely on the sustenance it gives. As a result, it is either crawling with bugs or sprayed with excessive pesticides. Either way, I don’t know what’s more repulsive.

Finally, there must be some kind of sauce to provide moisture to all the dry ingredients. Therefore, a combination of oil with a tiny bit of egg is added. It’s revolting, the consistency alone is enough to make you get.

There we have it, a food with many ingredients which most likely will fall apart the second you hold it. A food that tries so hard to be delicious, yet has too many contradictions.

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 5

Day 5: The last liquid you drank has turned your protagonist into a superhero. What do your character’s new powers allow him or her to do?

There was a familiar comfort that existed in a hot beverage. The feeling that arises as your lips touch the warm cup and you take the first dainty sip to try not to burn your mouth, it was almost like receiving a hug but better. The warmth it provided both inside and outside of your body, it felt ethereal. All this alongside the sensation of flavours that danced in your mouth. It seems quite peculiar to assume a cup of tea could be described as magical or even slightly poetic but no one understood this more than our young protagonist.

After the surreal experiences that she had faced in the last few weeks, she needed the stress relief which she had always found in a simple thing such as tea. It may seem absurd for someone reading this but one must understand the feeling that nostalgia gives us and how in one moment your world may not feel like it is crumbling anymore from something like making a simple cup of tea.

She took sip and her lips turned up into a smile.

Three hours later

Our young protagonist is now seen in the corner of her room, pressed up against the wall with her knees clutched against her chest. She is wearing a gigantic hoodie which covers her face but there are noticeable gleams of water trickling down her face which shine in the dim light of the room. Then the screaming, “no, stop, make it stop,” said in unison with a piercing shriek.

Another young woman bursts through the door in response. She sees her best friend snivelling in the corner and immediately rushes to her aide. “What’s happened?”

In a meek little voice, she responds, “I’m a freak.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, you aren’t.”

With no warning the distressed woman removes her hoodie to reveal her face, which appeared to have thin vines growing out of it. Her face still recognisable but having plants grow out of it.

Her best friend did the last thing she expected. She laughed. “What the fuck? Of course, this would happen to you.”

That was not at all comforting, “why are you laughing, I have leaves growing on me. I hate nature.”

“Yes. It’s a very unfortunate and confusing situation.” She cleared her throat, “but after all the weird things that happen to you, I guess I am just desensitised now. But I’ll assure you one thing: you always get out of it fighting.”

Our protagonist was glad her friend did not run screaming. Just as her worries started to subside a sharp pain echoed through her mind. Her fingers were at her temple as she let out a small whimper.

“What happened now?” The best friend asked with genuine concern.

“You really would not believe me if I told you.”

“I just found this normal. Try me.”

As the sharp pain dulled out she spoke, “the neighbours are cutting their grass and I can hear it.”

“The lawnmower?”

“No, the grass. They’re in pain. They’re screaming. And everything here made of natural substance is humming. Like they have an energy that I can feel and it’s like I can understand them.”

Now her friend was speechless.

“It’s crazy.” She rushed over to her desk and rest her hand on top, “but I know the tree this came from was from Africa. It grew for almost 500 years and got cut down, also it wasn’t made to be a desk. It was a dressing table a man got for his wife for her 60th birthday.”

“Did you make that all up?”

“I wish. And look at this.” She pressed her hand against the wall and closed her eyes as on the wall grew branches surrounded with bright green leaves.

“can you fix my plant that was dying in the hallway.”

“I already did. It was crying. Can you please water it?”


There was a silence, as our protagonist had disturbing thoughts running through her head which simultaneously was clouded by fear, on the contrary her friend stared in bewilderment to the newfound powers which was overshadowed by a feeling of amazement.

Her friend finally asked, “would you like some tea?”

I would really like to write another scene for this but without a time limit. 

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 4

Day 4: Imagine that your protagonist has just turned into a statue. Describe his or her thoughts.


It’s the strangest feeling being completely immobilised. My mind was still functioning but the idea that my brain was sending signals to my body only to remain completely still. It was as if I was asleep, yet too aware of my surroundings. My eyes were locked on a singular point on the wall and I couldn’t even blink.

After the fear of paralysis or even death, I began to think more mundane thoughts. Giving up hope of trying to move gave an odd sense of perspective. I decided to focus on the now. Not my life, simply just my day.
Did I remember to turn off the iron?
Is there enough food for the cat to get by for a while?
Will Carrie and Mr Big end up together?
Clearly, these were questions of high importance (I can still joke).

My thoughts couldn’t help but wonder. Everything I’ve done in my life being completely futile. It all leading up to this. I worked my whole life wanting to help people, and I had yet to do this. I wanted to make a change. A peculiar selfishness occurred to me: was I doing it to make myself better? I was no saint; could it merely be an excuse to make me feel better about myself. So many dreams left to dream about, the chances not taken. All the plans I once had for myself only for me to end up like this.

I didn’t dare think about my family. Wondering if I would ever see them again, contemplating if there will be a time I can tell them that I love them one last time. Thank them.
Another distressing thought was that even if they find me I would need to watch them feeling sorry for me. They wouldn’t know that I could hear them, and I would be unable to reach out to them.
I’d just wonder for days on end if my mind would falter alongside my body, if I stopped thinking then there was a possibility that I could be forever lost. Stuck in the prison of my own vegetative state.

I heard a familiar voice of someone I know coming from behind me, their voice quickly trembled. Despite that fact that my back was facing them. their voice revealed all. They tried calling my name and eventually walked in front of me, glaring at me. They didn’t know what they were looking at yet a sadness still struck them as they fell to the ground.
My eyes began to stung and, much to my surprise, I could feel a dampness fall to my cheeks.


The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 3

Day 3: Now send your character to his or her grumpy grandmother’s house for a visit. Write the scene of your character’s arrival.


I took a deep exhale as I stand in front of the door, the odd off-white colour that it has faded to over the years. I reached for the doorbell and heard the sound resonate inside, the ringing rapidly ended and was followed by a disconcerting silence. Therefore, I was left with no other choice but to wait, it quickly became clear that no one was coming to the door. As much as I wanted to turn around, I did not. Instead I chose to persevere. I pressed the doorbell and pushed it repeatedly. After the many attempts, I finally heard footsteps approaching the door. They were loud heavy footsteps hastily approaching the door. From the other side, there was a vague mutter, mixed with the sounds of the door being unbolted, a chain rattling, along with many other commotions. Then the final click.

As the door slowly opened I found myself praying ‘please don’t let it be her, please not her’.

The door cracked open ever so slightly revealing a livid face of a withered old lady. Even though she was clearly in her seventies, the look of disdain in her face evoked a twinge of fear in me. Not because I was afraid she would disapprove of me, or I worried about her judgment but because I felt she could probably pack a punch. She was that kind of woman, the woman everyone feared, even the burly men in this neighbourhood did not want to cross her.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, her facial expression unchanging.

I faked a smile: “Nan, are you going to allow your favourite grandchild to remain in the cold any longer?”

“Who the hell said you were my favourite?” she simply opened the door. “What brings you here?”

I walked into through the hallway into the living room and crashed onto the couch. In a normal event like this a grandma would be baking cookies or maybe even greet their grandchild with a hug or a vague bit of happiness. In this household, there was no such luck.

“Do I need a reason?” I looked around, this was clearly awkward for the both of us.

“For now I wont question it. Do you want tea?”

I hesitated, “Yeah, sure. Where’s gramps?”

“Out with his friends. You’d think those boys are twenty by the way they act.”

I laughed. That’s so like grandad to be a kid. He would always teach me ways to piss of my grandma, and my parents, then he would laugh about it after. He taught me how to play cards, and that is how we spent a lot of time. I developed quite the poker face because of that old joker.

“You always did like him more than me,” grandma commented.

I remained quiet, there isn’t much that can be said as a rebuttal.

“I thought girls are meant to be chatty.” She looked at me up and down, “well, you don’t really act or dress like a girl. Your hair is in your face constantly and you are wearing damaged clothes.”

“Okay, firstly these jeans are ripped for fashion. Second, I came for a nice chat with gramps because I lost hope in you being nice years ago.”

And with that, by pure irony, the kettle alarm went off. Grandma still looking unfazed turned to attend to it.

As she had her back faced to me, I stuck out my tongue.

“If you have your tongue out be prepared to lose it.”

“Of course not, ma’am.”

“Please, the amount of times I caught you doing that as a child and you think I believe that?”

I laughed, “yeah it was always funny seeing your face go red when I got caught.”

“You really are your grandad.”

I was still laughing and managed to cough out, “Nan, how do you have a straight face right now? Remember when your face when redder than ever and it seemed like steam was coming out, I got scared but gramps started laughing so hard and he was drinking. I swear I saw water come out of his nose, and he started choking but still laughing.”

With that memory both their raucous laughs filled up the room.

“That is nothing though. When your grandfather first met my parents, he was so nervous my dad asked him a question about kids in the future, he got so flustered that he practically spat water on my dad and himself. He spent the rest of the evening in a woman’s t-shirt because dad refused to give him one of his.”

“No way! I need to ask him about that.”

“He really is an old fool.”

“But you love him.”

“Yeah and so do you.”

“That’s true. I love you too, though, nan.”

She reached over and wrapped her arm around me, “even though I am a pain.” She then kissed the top of my head and whispered, “I love you too, my child.”

It was silent for a while but not an uncomfortable silence, a nice moment because for the first time in my life I felt we were truly on the same page.

“You are obviously staying for dinner. What do you want to eat?”

“Nan, how would you feel about cookies?”


The two women were in the kitchen as the grandad walks into the house humming showtunes and clutching a bouquet of flowers. He is greeted to a sound he doesn’t often hear and it brings him such joy, he can hear his wife laughing with his granddaughter.

The grandma simply thinks ‘She really is my favourite’.

The granddaughter is glad she came because the truth of the matter is she visited because ‘she missed them both’.

The grandad thinks of how lucky he is, the woman who is his granddaughter is just like the woman he fell in love with 50 years ago; the woman he still is in love with. Despite these two women being stubborn and a big pain in his ass, they can get along and love each other.

They both look at him enter and greet him with a smile as he joined the laughter and help them bake the cookies the grandkid has waited long enough for.

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 2

Day 2: Think of three people in your life. Give your character the hair and laugh of person 1, the face and bedroom of person 2, and the wardrobe and mannerisms of person 3. This is your new protagonist. Feel free to give him or her any other characteristics you’d like. Give us an idea of who your character is by describing only the first 60 seconds of the character’s day.


My eyelids fluttered open with the sun peaking through a gap from my curtains. I reached for my phone on my desk, which is positioned conveniently next to my bed. I sat up ever so slightly, that now my head rested on the wall instead on the pillow. As my eyes adjusted to the start of the day, I could see the time on the screen read: 8:40 am. I could see my black hair in front of my eyes, obscuring my vision, and knew it was sticking up at the top of my head. I scanned the room, the other side of my bed had the door which was still tightly closed. Another corner separated by a radiator, I glimpsed at the draw where I often chuck clean clothes, on top they were unfolded and scattered across. After I spotted that my wardrobe was open revealing clothes that I could possibly wear through the day, however my day had not yet started. I threw my phone on the desk scattered with notes an a half-open book. I could get up and put some music on to try to dance awake, but instead I got the pillow and press it on my face and try to return to my slumber so I did not have to think a moment longer.

I got bored and thought I would offer a slight visual. It was done in a short time and I was trying to do people that I know so I apologise for the quality. Just drawn for fun with an idea of how the character should look in my art style. 

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 1

I’m a pretty lazy person, and for many reasons but that being the main contributor: I cannot commit to writing on this blog. Therefore, the only option to write is to force it. I’m subjecting myself, someone who blogs literally once every two months, to write 30 blogs in 30 days. That’s right: the 30-day writing challenge. The one I’m doing is from the scribendi website, so if anyone else is up for doing this challenge with me, just let me know so I can read. To be completely honest, I’m going to try hard to get until day 30 but my last 30-day writing challenge ended with me on day 8.

Day 1: Take us through a written walk down your street and to your favourite place through the eyes of somebody else. (Disclaimer: I really don’t have a favourite place but I am going to write about the park I walk through and where going to sketch).


As I paced down an unfamiliar street that seemed ever so homely. The kind of street you would never read about unless for its unwavering regularity. It being quiet and still, almost as if no one really lived here. Despite the fact it was surrounded by houses and those houses were surrounded by houses. It was still too quiet. However every now and then after that thought had occurred to me, I would see a person pass me. They never really saw me, they just ignored obstacle in a rush. Rushing to get somewhere. There was nothing to see here, no reason to slow down and appreciate it.

It was like a normal street, it had those small trees planted about two or three metres away from the last. In between them was a cluttering of cars. For some odd reason, there were a ridiculous amount of stationary cars. It’s like every house had a family of four, where all four could drive. This is a problem when even the houses are too close. Like true London fashion most of them are terraced and a few lucky ones get to be semi-detached. This led to the inevitable clutter.

As I turned the corner, there was a bustle of cars speeding down the road, a bus stopped and went. It again all seemed so rushed. Maybe because even on the busy road there was still nothing worth seeing. No sights. Just a simple few houses and then a row of shops. Small businesses, nothing exquisite. A grocers or two, a hairdresser there. A place for them to settle down and remain, so for them nothing changed. They looked old and grew to be part of the background, clearly nothing here has changed drastically.

Now I approach a roundabout, with cars forced to stand at a halt while others crossed where the lights changed. There were five different ways to go, one going back, the other would show a restaurant along with a few more and the old library that definitely does not own the book you want to read. The third simply just more road, walking down would just take me to another borough, same with the fifth. I walked down to the fourth, leading to again more road. There was a bus stop, more grocers and of course more restaurants. As I walked further down, I could see gates to a park, surely the scenery should be better there than what I see. So that was path I chose and was immediately proved wrong, as there were two small ponds with a swarm of ducks. It was dirty and looked ancient, again nothing worth any value to see. However there were still people sat down enjoying the pathetic view.

I only wanted to walk further to be were there were no people. Simply sit alone where it didn’t smell like unwashed animals and be in peace. I walked further down past those families having barbecues and loud kids, until there was a patch of grass where I could sit.

When I finally sat, it didn’t seem so horrible. It was ordinary and normal, but the world was still and I could hear the quietness. I could look up and see the sky. Even though there was nothing worth seeing, I could see that this was worth seeing anywhere in the world. Under the sky the world seemed vast and that’s what I will share.

Underneath normality there must still be beauty. It is just question of you wanting to discover it.